


sick of everything, will you heal me?

by myladybrienne



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Braime - Freeform, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fake Dating, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Non-Graphic Violence, Smut, background Sansaery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:08:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 71
Words: 71,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myladybrienne/pseuds/myladybrienne
Summary: Jaime is set to inherit the family business but Tywin demands he produce a successor before he'll pass it over. A business deal puts Jaime at a dinner table with Brienne, the girl who's despised him since the first time they met. Keeping up the pretence for a little while would be better for the both of them though.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitam/gifts).



Tywin Lannister was less than thrilled at the prospect of entering his seventh decade and yet a party was expected of him.

It was a networking opportunity, not a celebration. The champagne and the vol-au-vents were investments for the growth of the company; a display of his unwavering power, of _Casterly’_ s ever advancing prosperity. His children served as exhibitions of his success, not as the honoured guests that one might expect.  
  
“To the man who built the biggest trade empire in the world,” Mace Tyrell led the room in a toast with an obnoxious grin. “and the man who pays our wages!”

A false smile was stretched across Tywin’s face as all eyes fell upon him. _Not yet,_ he thought. The time for speeches would soon come. First, he would make sure to loosen the tongues of his guests with more of the Jacquesson he’d been gifted by his youngest son. “If I’m to be there, I’ll at least have good booze to get me through,” he had said. _I’ve raised a drunkard, a lunatic, and a boy who refuses to grow up._  
  
“Jaime,” he greeted, picking up two new champagne flutes from a passing waitress and handing one to his eldest son. “Enjoying yourself?”  
  
“A wonderful party, Dad,” Jaime answered placidly, taking a sip before offering his glass a scornful glance. “A true show of _Casterly_ in all its affluence.”  
  
The room was full of London’s finest young ladies. Tywin had made sure of that. Mace’s daughter had been told to bring every unattached woman that she knew, and it seemed she had delivered. Pretty young things in couture they couldn’t afford and among them, a few _real_ women that were not worn by their Valentino gowns. Trying to impress wealthy men with displays of one’s own comparably pitiful capital was a waste and yet, every event, they came with new dresses that set them up as girls playing dress-up.

“See anything you like?” 48 years spent trying to make a match for his eldest son still came to naught. “Your deadline approaches, son. Remember that.”  
  
Tywin looked at his child and wondered where he’d gone wrong. There were bags beneath his eyes and the beginnings of silver in his hair and yet still, he seemed a boy. Men were made of more than muscle and bone, they had real substance and Jaime had little of that. It seemed he’d mistaken his twins for one another and raised his daughter to be the ambitious one. _Too ambitious,_ he thought.

It had been almost twenty years since the first time they had found themselves having this conversation. Every time, it began with a gentle reminder of Jaime’s responsibility to the company: to produce and rear a worthy successor.  
  
“Two more years, then I’ll send your waster of a brother to rehab and prepare _him_ for the task. Or might be I’ll show Tommen a thing or two about the world we live in,” Tywin offered in a baleful tone. He adjusted his sleeve, glancing down at his cufflink and running his thumb across the silver-set ruby.  
  
“These links have never graced the cuffs of a man who wasn’t a Lannister, born and bred, and I will not watch you hand them over to some stranger. Damon Lannister didn’t work a hundred hours a week to watch the company he started handed off. Lock, stock, and barrel to a nobody.”

Jaime took a long gulp of the sparkling piss Tyrion had so generously bestowed upon them. He hated wine; it tasted like the life he’d never wanted for himself.

“Give the damn thing to Cersei already, she’ll only claim it for herself when you’re dead. I don’t _want_ it,” he bit out quietly.

Wide-eyed, Tywin took his son by the elbow and guided him into the quiet hallway. A Volmark girl was giggling into the ear of young Lancel, paying no heed to the rest of the world in her tipsy state.  
  
“You think I care what you want? This company is your responsibility, it has passed through Lannister hands for generations and it will not end with you. Stop being a child and grow up!” Tywin demanded, offering a steely glare as he heard his nephew lead the girl quietly away up the wide, winding stairway.  
  
Jaime swallowed thickly and wondered what he’d done to bring this upon himself.  _I was born,_ he supposed. There was nothing in this world he wanted less than to inherit a multi-billion-pound company and yet it seemed, he was obliged somehow.

“Are you gay? Is that it?” Tywin asked and his face softened just slightly. “I wouldn’t care. Find yourself a husband and bring up a child. I don’t care where you find the thing, just make it a Lannister and I don’t care about the little shit’s blood. You give me a grandchild, I give you control of 71% of all the known diamonds in the world…isn’t that a fair deal, J?”  
  
_71% of all the known diamonds in the world_. It sounded like everything a man could want for and yet the idea of all that wealth sent Jaime’s head spinning the same way as a single-malt scotch.  
  
“I’m not gay. Christ, Dad! Can a man not just be single? Does there have to be more to it?”  
  
The grandfather clock on the landing above them struck ten and it was time to make his speech. Folk would be leaving soon, and he needed to make sure everybody heard his declaration. Word of mouth could not be relied upon to make people cower in admiration of the great Casterly empire. They needed to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.  
  
“Just put a child in somebody,” Tywin ordered before stalking back into the hall, draining his champagne flute and glancing back at his son. “That’s all I ask of you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime and Cersei found each other among the nameless wealth their father had invited. His hand reached out for the small of her back and he wanted to ask how she was faring. He could see from the way she swayed into him that she had taken her fill to keep her mellow, and yet the glass in her hand was full once more.

“Ladies and gents, I’m so pleased to have you all here in my home to celebrate this great occasion. I’m the first Lannister to make It to seventy and I’m still going strong,” he began with the wry smile that had graced a million billboards across the world. “Rumours have been flying that my retirement date is set. I’d like to tell you all that I’m still well and truly astride the horse and I don’t plan on getting off just yet. This company has been my life’s work and I have seen it come further than I ever imagined possible, it is too great of an achievement to let go of.”

Whispers spread across the room like a bushfire and Jaime smirked to hear their shock. This company would be torn from his father’s cold dead hands. Believing otherwise was the act of a blind man.  
  
Tywin went on with pride. _Casterly_ was his greatest achievement, far higher in his expectations than any of his children. One hundred and twelve new accounts, billions of pounds made, a fresh mine at their disposal courtesy of the ever-ambitious Lychesters.  
  
Three hundred champagne flutes rose into the air. “To Damon Lannister, who began this, and to the men who will carry it on.” As a room full of voices rose in agreement, Tywin’s eyes sought out his son’s among them all and gave him a meaningful look.  
  
“Fucking misogynist,” Cersei murmured.  
  
It wasn’t anything to do with the fact she was a woman. If they hadn’t been twins, if Cersei had been born a year ahead of him, _Casterly_ would already be hers. Their father had taken his son to work one day when he was six and told him that this was his future. Tywin Lannister was stubborn as a mule and he had decided the company was Jaime’s, and so it would be.  
  
She would take control of _Solitaire_ when he retired, but she didn’t care about that sliver of a fortune. That business was barely Lannister at all, the majority shareholder remained Selwyn Tarth and she was unenthusiastic to spend her life working side-by-side with such an old man. 

The Tarths were of old money. A fortune that dated back further than the company itself. They were rich because they knew how to _keep_ money, not how to make it. _Solitaire_ was hardly a business venture to be considered with ambition, it was a maintenance project to keep the Lannister image _: from the soil, straight to the shop._

“Darling siblings!” Tyrion was in a drunken stupor and if he wasn’t already shamed beyond repair, his father might have hurried him out, away from where the guests could see him. “How are we enjoying the show?”  
  
“You’re wasted,” Jaime stated as plain fact. “Go to bed, Tyrion.”

The great hall had started to clear out almost immediately. People were here for appearances’ sake: they wanted to be seen by the right people and then they wanted to return to their sad little lives.

“You can’t send me to bed! I’m not a child,” he complained as he spilled champagne down the front of his shirt. “Speaking of, where are my favourite family members?”  
  
“At their father’s, he refused to let them come. Pompous git,” Cersei bit out, blood boiling at the mere thought of her ex-husband. “I don’t know how I ever tolerated him.”  
  
_I don’t know how he ever tolerated you,_ Jaime thought. His sister would appear in the encyclopaedic entry for the word ‘bitch’, he imagined. Life had made her that way: she’d lost her mother, she’d lost her fortune, she’d lost her first-born son. The world was in conspiracy against her and she was determined to bring it all down around her own ears.

 “We all ought to leave before Father corners us,” Jaime suggested with a menacing smile. “You know how loves to get us all in one place for an argument. Frankly, I’m too tired.”  
  
A few lingered, among them was Brandon Tallhart who remained in hopes of pulling Tywin aside. The ambitious fool didn’t realise just how desperate he looked. In the aftermath of such a party, the glasses on every flat surface and the professionally selected decorations looked suddenly misplaced in the big, emptying room.

“I hasten to agree,” Tyrion conceded, setting his glass down heavily on a table and making briskly for the doors.  
  
Jaime wondered if his father would ever really consider Tyrion to take the company. He was a drunkard and a waster but beneath it all, he had a brain. A single heartbreak had sent him spiralling but before all that, he’d been the one that wasn’t too much of a disappointment. Now though, his father would never entrust such a fine fortune to a reckless fool.

 _If only Joffrey were alive,_ Jaime thought. The boy had been cruel when he was young, though sickness softened him over the years. He had been the apple of Tywin’s eye and many believed that behind closed doors, he took the loss harder even than Cersei. They were wrong: Joffrey was an asset and when he ceased to be an asset, it was no matter, there was nothing lost but for the life of a young boy and young boys didn’t cost much in the world they presided over.

“I’m sure I’ll see you both far sooner than any of us would like,” Tyrion bid as he fell into the back of a taxi with a wave. Cersei headed to her own waiting driver and got into the car without a fleeting glance.  
  
Jaime’s own car was parked on the driveway and getting out of the tight squeeze in which some moron had put him was going to be tricky. He would manage, he knew, for being a Lannister was an education in how to escape tricky situations.


	3. Chapter 3

The house was old. Joanna had loved the high ceilings and so he’d bought it for her without blinking. If he’d imagined the cost of maintaining it, he might have built her something just as lovely, but he was a fool in love, and she had asked.  
  
The library, as it were, had become a place for Tywin to invite his _friends_ to drink and talk when the office didn’t seem appropriate. The office never seemed appropriate when it came to Selwyn Tarth; the man was hardly an entrepreneur and yet he controlled the biggest luxury jewellery retailer in the world. He was kind and trusting and Tywin knew that to keep him, the trick was making him believe they were truly more than colleagues.

“Can you believe it’s been just shy of fifty years?” Selwyn sipped his scotch and watched as the woodfire burned in the low-lit room. “To think of how our fathers hated one another, and now look at us!”  
  
Tywin wondered at the man: was he really so soft as that or was it a ruse to keep the sharks at bay? Nobody kept wealth with wits as dull as Selwyn’s seemed to be and yet, with every year, his capital rose, and his business grew.

“We ought to keep it going,” Tywin started. “If Gal was living, our sons would be in business as we are but now, a finer opportunity has risen. You have a daughter. I have a son. Might we guide them in the right direction and tie Tarth and Lannister together more closely?”

On the table was an open pack of Marlboro Gold, with a clipper tucked inside. Tywin reached for it and drew out a cigarette between his lips, offering the pack flippantly to Selwyn though the man hadn’t touched tobacco in at least ten years. He lit it up and drew breath deep into the chasm of his lungs.  
  
“Push them toward one another, you mean? We’re not our fathers, Ty. Brienne is her own person. I know Jaime is as well, that man has been independent since he was weaned. They don’t even _like_ each other!” Selwyn sipped his whisky and let the burn ease down his throat. “How would we even attempt such a thing?”  
  
“Send them to the same events, make sure they’re spending time together. Neither of them seem eager to settle down and so something more convenient might suit them. We ought to try Selwyn, if only for the sake of saying we made an effort.” Smoke clouded the space around him as he spoke and if it wasn’t for the quiet, the way he wheezed would have gone unheard. “All that power, Selwyn. Your business and mine, everything we own in the hands of our two children. Their children might be the richest people in the world one day.”  
  
Selwyn thought of that. A legacy like no other. A comfortable life for Brienne and for her children, a happy life. Of course, it felt medieval, but it was true that she was unlikely to find someone herself: she barely even tried. Jaime was a kind man too, if he was anything less than delightful, Selwyn might’ve taken offence but he’d been charming, even as a boy.

“I’d have to tell her. She’d have to know what we were trying to do, I won’t lie to her, I’m the only family she has left, and I won’t keep her in the dark,” he declared. “I think she’d try, if only to please me.”  
  
_And so, the trap is set,_ thought Tywin. Brienne Tarth was a sweet woman. Feistier than her father and not the prettiest peach but there were more important things than that. Her interest in  _Solitaire_ was lacking to say the least, she’d always expected it to go to Galladon so she might get on with her own life. When he died so tragically, the inheritance fell at her feet.  
  
“Jaime would too, if only to keep me from going on about the matter.”  
  
An agency worker knocked on the door, and when bid to enter, said the house was empty but for them and the cleaning had been done and finished with. Tywin gave a curt nod and sent the woman home.

A hacking cough rose in his throat and set him gasping quite desperately for air; it took a minute to recover himself though Selwyn only watched in timid concern. “We ought to be quick about it,” Tywin admitted.  “I went to Dr Pycelle and he said I’ve only a year or so left. Bloody cigarettes! Never thought cancer would come for me too. Not after Joanna.”  
  
His wife had been diagnosed at her twelve-week scan. A remarkably small foetus and a worryingly large tumour were found on the ultrasound. They’d suggested a termination, so she might seek treatment. She’d refused and Tywin had hated her for it. She managed seven months and then Tyrion was born by caesarean section. She died three days after, and many said she’d been holding on for the baby’s sake.

 “That fool! Go to a proper doctor, Ty. You can afford the best doctors in the country and still, you return to that incompetent idiot. His practices are straight out of World War II!”  
  
Tywin didn’t care. He wasn’t interested in fighting it. He wanted to settle his affairs and go quietly, with all the dignity he could muster in his old age. Ash fell to his trouser leg and when he went to wipe it, he spread a grey streak across the expensive suit. He didn’t care about that either. Nothing mattered, if he saw his children settled and his company in safe hands.

 They stayed there for a long while. Their plans for the future of the company were always expanding and two such men never ran out of fresh ideas to discuss. Business talk invigorated Tywin and he wondered if the same blood ran through his veins as through his son’s.

“To our children and the future they might forge,” Selwyn offered up merrily, clinking his glass against Tywin’s before draining his tumbler.  



	4. Chapter 4

Sitting at the breakfast table, Brienne wondered where her father was. She’d woken to a summons via text and come to eat with him and yet when she arrived, Roelle let her in and she had been waiting half an hour for him to join her.  
  
“Sorry, Bri!” Selwyn said, bowling into the room with a cheerful expression. “Late night for Ty’s birthday, I slept right through my alarm!”  
  
She rose to kiss his cheek good morning before reaching for the eggs and loading a heap onto her plate. The best thing about coming to see her father was Roelle’s cooking: the housekeeper worried dreadfully about Brienne, living all alone. Every time she visited, she was fed until she could eat no more and still Roelle would send her home with Tupperware full of food.

“A pleasant evening then? I hope you sent him my best wishes,” she replied. Of course, she knew he had. He had likely sent a bouquet in her name as well. It had been rather a snub that she hadn’t attended herself, but she had been busy, or so she told her father. Such events had never been her thing much to Selwyn’s dismay.  
  
Her father started buttering a piece of toast and she wondered how he ever managed alone; the knife had gone straight through the slice and he wasn’t spreading it evenly. _A man child_ , she thought, _however did he become so successful_?  
  
“Wonderful, my dear. No expenses spared, of course, and it was nice to see the children. They never seem to be in one place any more but they were all three of them there, though both Tyrion and Cersei got themselves quite squiffy!” He bit into the toast and wiped a fallen crumb out of his whiskers.

She laughed at him heartily. For he had never seemed so old to her as now. “Nobody says squiffy, Dad, and of course, they did! It was a party full of people they can’t stand! I wouldn’t have stayed sober either,” she remarked.

A mountain of food later, she realised that all her father had talked about was Jaime Lannister. The handsome blonde had always ground Brienne’s gears but then so did most of the people her father spent his time with and deigned to tell her about in great detail. It was strange breakfast conversation however, she had to admit.

“Dad, did you need something, or did you just want to see me?” she asked before bringing her coffee cup to her lips for a sip.  
  
“Too busy for your old Dad now?” he teased with a grin, setting his hand over hers on the table with an uneasy smile that made her worry. “The thing is, darling, Tywin and I were talking and we think you and Jaime might get along. Thought you might like to go out on a date or whatever it is that you young people do!”  
  
Brienne drew her hand away and dropped it into her lap. Her face gave away anything she might have wanted to keep unsaid. Pure bafflement. _He’s trying to set me up with the guy._  

“Jaime Lannister?” she exclaimed as though it was the most impossible thing in the world that she might date him. “Do you know what people say about him, Dad? They say he’s a player! The reason he never has a girl on his arm is because he keeps a different one in his bed each night. He’s a sleaze, if the stories are true.”  
  
If she wasn’t sitting taller than him, she would’ve felt a child again in that moment. He looked at her discerningly like a girl caught misbehaving. It was a look she hadn’t seen in years, not since she’d moved out at the least, and there it was to knock her down a peg. “Since when do you listen to rumours? He’s rich and lucky and handsome and people hate him for it. Hateful people say awful things. You know that better than anyone, Bri.”  
  
Drinking her coffee, she let it burn her tongue. Her eyes dropped to the table, abashed. _He’s right,_ she thought. The years had taught her that people were most creative in their hatred, and she was nothing short of a muse to the men she had known all her life.

“Still, Dad. Setting me up with your business partner’s son? It sounds like something out of an old movie! He doesn’t even like me, he’s thought me less than him since we were kids, since we would play together at Tywin’s house. All four of us would spend hours there every day and Jaime always loved Galladon and thought me a nuisance.”  
  
“You were children, Brienne,” her father pointed out. _He still acts a child,_ she thought. Last month, they had all been forced together for a function and he’d teased her the way he always did. He had asked her if she’d grown up yet and she had wanted to ask him the same, but his condescension was borne of privilege. She had no right to chide him so freely, not when he was a Lannister and she was a Tarth: a single word from him might mean ruin.

“Fine,” she settled. _It will be good to watch him squirm,_ she thought. “Good luck persuading him to agree to it.”  
  
It would come to naught. A man like Jaime would never agree to waste his time on a woman like her, not even if his father demanded it of him.  He had spent his entire life chasing pretty young things and she was neither pretty nor young. Tywin had put his desperation on show for the world to see, trying to pair off his eldest son to the first woman he could think of; he really was desperate for more grandchildren.

“I need to go, Dad. I’m meeting Sansa but I’ll speak to you later,” Brienne said, wiping the corners of her mouth with her thumb before standing and kissing her father goodbye.

Coffee was going to be eventful. Sansa would have a lot to say about such an arrangement, Brienne already knew, though admittedly, she’d held a lot back. Ten years ago, she would’ve torn her father to shreds for even suggesting such a thing, but she was different now. She knew the way their world worked, and she knew that sometimes biding one’s time proved more effective.


	5. Chapter 5

Brienne arrived at Starbucks two minutes late and it was entirely the fault of all the commuters on the Jubilee line. Not that it mattered. Sansa was bound to be at least another fifteen minutes, if not longer. 

“An oat milk latte, a double espresso shot, and an iced caramel macchiato please,” she ordered with a smile. The girl behind the counter was familiar to her. It was the one down Upper Bank Street that she came into at least three times a week. The place was right down the road from Selwyn’s office and if she wasn’t being dragged to meetings for no good reason, she was meeting him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Of late, he couldn’t go a day without her company.  
  
She struggled with the three drinks, making her way cautiously to the window table where the pair of them tended to sit. Before Sansa could arrive, she quickly downed her espresso and prayed it took a beeline to her bloodstream. All twenty years of the girl’s life, Brienne had known Sansa and yet with age, she never seemed to become any less of a handful.

“Sorry I’m late!” she announced as she bustled through the door and Brienne wondered if she shouldn’t have got another espresso shot to tide her over. The girl had three big shopping bags with her, and she looked worn out as she flopped into the opposite chair and grabbed her macchiato, sipping at the straw greedily. “Hermes have a sale at the moment, and I had to get there early to make the most of it.”  
  
“Of course, you did,” Brienne said sardonically, sipping her latte. “How’ve you been?”  
  
“Margaery’s being a nightmare. I swear nobody we know is normal, Brienne. She’s been all over me for weeks and now suddenly, she’s too busy to reply to me! I see why guys complain so much about dating. I’ve got no idea what’s happening with her and we’ve both got so much going on, we barely have time for each other with uni!”

As Sansa began to talk about the intricacies of everyday life, Brienne wondered how they’d ever gotten to this point. Life had thrown them together: their fathers had known each other, then Brienne had babysat Sansa and her siblings, then somewhere along the way, they became friends. In no way did it make sense, they had less in common than Brienne might have thought possible, but she loved the girl almost as a sister now. “And what about your life?”

“Dad’s set me up with Jaime Lannister,” Brienne deadpanned.  
  
Sansa screamed, just slightly, but still enough to draw attention. She laughed until her sides hurt and once, she’d calmed herself enough, she asked if Brienne was serious. There were tears in her eyes and Brienne was glad that at least _someone_ found it amusing. 

“He and Tywin conjured the whole thing and I got told this morning at breakfast,” said Brienne. Sansa’s expression sobered a little. 

“Did I miss something?” she asked. “I didn’t think normal people tried to arrange marriages for their kids in the twenty-first century but maybe I should let Dad know I’ve got it covered already. My god, Bri, it’s medieval!”

They talked about it for half an hour and at the root of it all, Brienne was determined that Jaime would never even agree to a date. It was quite funny to imagine: a failed athlete and the heir to the greatest fortune in all of England. What a pair they would make.

“He’s handsome, I suppose. When I was younger, I took him for a prince. He’s a sweet enough guy and I tell you, the man can _dance_ but he’s always stayed out of it all at events so I can’t really pass judgment. You were close growing up, surely you have an idea what he’s like.” _I know what he used to be like,_ Brienne thought. _I pray he’s changed if I’m to be forced into his company._  


It was getting busy. The early lunch rush had begun, and half a dozen familiar faces walked through the door though they didn’t spot her. She hated the way they looked at her: like she was in charge of them when she was nobody at all. Her authority was borne of blood and blood alone. They knew more about the trade than her and yet they watched her like she ruled their every move.

“So, where are you going to make him take you?” Sansa asked, and Brienne looked at the girl with a light-hearted curiosity. “He’s the richest man who’ll ever take you out, you have to make the most of that.”  
  
_Little more than a girl,_ Brienne thought. Sansa _looked_ to be a woman grown, with her newly-found curves and the mature way she held herself, but behind it all, she was still the girl who longed to be a princess and cut photos of wedding gowns out of magazines.

 _That’s what he wants._ Jaime wasn’t looking for a woman like her. An athlete and a person with interests in the oddest things. No two people had ever been less suited and yet their fathers deemed them the perfect match. It would be one date, just to sate her father’s wishes, and then she could ditch the poor guy and find herself a one-night stand. All this talk of marriage and romance had turned her head and she was thinking about sex for the first time in years _. The first time since Renly._  
  
“Can I be your maid of honour?” Sansa asked with a grin and Brienne let out a bawdy laugh. “I know the chances are slim but that makes it no sort of promise at all, saying yes will be as easy as breathing.”  
  
“Okay,” Brienne answered, lips curled in amusement. “If I marry Jaime bloody Lannister, you can be my maid of honour.”

The thought lingered with her on the tube to the gym. She could see it now. Her in the Vera Wang she’d earmarked in a magazine when she was a girl herself, Sansa in the newest Stella McCartney with Lannister jewels to hold down her dainty figure as she led the procession, and Jaime looking dashing in a suit. _What a farce_. She wasn't that sort of woman, and that wasn't her sort of wedding.


	6. Chapter 6

The journey home was quicker than she’d expected. There were delays at Westminster, but they didn’t keep her for long and the walk home from the station was a brief one. Her apartment was on the top floor and the walk up eight flights of stairs always seemed to feel as long as the other half an hour had.

“Morning, Ms Tarth,” said the doorman Wylis as he let her into the building with a smile.  
  
She hadn’t tidied the flat and when she got in, there were still empty takeaway boxes on the coffee table. Nobody was going to see it, she rationalised. It could wait until later.

From her wardrobe, she plucked a green tank top and some running shorts. The gym would be quiet, she hoped, as she put on her trainers. Nothing calmed her like a good workout and she really needed to get out of her head after the morning she’d just had.

On the bed, her phone rang out and she leant to answer it without looking at the lockscreen. “Hello?”  
  
“Hi, is that…is that Brienne?” the voice asked, and it took her a moment to realise who it was. “My Dad’s just called me about this nonsense him and Selwyn have concocted, and I thought I’d give you a ring. Cut out the middle man, you know.”  
  
“Um, yeah. I found out this morning. I don’t know how much they drank last night but apparently, they have no sense when they’re drunk. So, what’s up? And how’s things? I haven’t seen you in a while.” Trying to make small talk with him, and with men like him, was something she avoided at all costs. _Make an excuse to hang up,_ she thought.  
  
“Oh. Well, I was just thinking. You know how my Dad can get and I was wondering if you’d come out for dinner with me some time. We could catch up and it’ll get them off our backs. Not a date, obviously, but they can draw their own conclusions if we let them,” he suggested and suddenly she was glad they were on the phone because her mouth was agape.

 _Say no,_ she thought. “Sure,” she said. _What am I doing?_ It was her most stupid decision to date. He was infuriating as ever and he was going to be a twat the entire time and she was going to have to pretend to like him. _It’s only one night,_ she told herself and realised how long she’d been quiet for. “When works?”  
  
“How’s Tuesday?” asked Jaime, and she didn’t even bother looking at her calendar. If she had plans, she could reschedule them. She wanted this over and done with at the earliest convenience. 

They agreed on a time and a place. The dynamic, even over the phone, set her on edge and she chided herself for agreeing to spend more time in his company. Someone was going to get strangled, she suspected, and it wasn’t going to be her.

If she hadn’t needed to work out before, she certainly did now. The gym was only a few minutes down the road, and the wind calmed her. Inexplicably, the brief phone call had left her a little heated; actually dining with him was going to be the death of her, or the death of him. Perhaps both.

 _Stop stressing,_ she told herself. It was going to have to happen and then they could both get on with their lives as if it had never occurred in the first place. It wasn’t even worth thinking about.

The gym was remarkably empty, even for the time of day. Save a couple of unfamiliar faces, she had the place entirely to herself. As she hopped on the treadmill and started running, she filled her head with the sound of Florence + The Machine in her headphones and her heart rate began to quicken. 

Sweat trickled down the valley between her breasts and into her sports bra, and she couldn’t wait to shower once she got home. The only feeling better than a tough workout was the easing of her muscles afterwards.  
  
Halfway through a set of dumb bell flyes, she spotted Sandy coming into the gym and paused to wave at him.  
  
“Hello stranger,” he greeted warmly. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in weeks!”  
  
“Italy knocked the wind out of my sails. I love that place but it’s _too_ relaxing, I got back to England and it took me a while to get back to real life.” Her father had gifted the trip to her for her birthday, hoping she might take it as an opportunity to be spontaneous. Instead, she vigilantly planned each day’s itinerary, packed full of museums and tours and sightseeing.

It was alarmingly true. Rome had left her with a gut that pushed out defiantly and no motivation at all to move. She’d got back to London ten days ago and this was the first time that she’d found herself longing to be back in the gym. 

“You’re an embarrassment!” Sandy barked out in false cruelty and she could but laugh at him. His hair had grown longer and dangled loosely over his shoulders, and beneath the wife-beater he wore, she could tell he’d gained some weight. She wasn’t the only one who’d been slacking it seemed; he looked like the product of a week-long bender.

He spotted her bench press and she returned the favour. For a while, he’d been a sort of coach to her though she’d always surpassed him on a physical basis. After Galladon though, he’d been the one she relied on most and it was remarkable to think they barely knew each other, even now.

“You’re tight as a nun,” Sandy said as he rolled her muscles under his knuckles harshly, ignoring the way she grunted. “What’s got you so tied up?”  
  
“Nothing, I’ve just been lazy the past week and my body doesn’t like it,” she answered, shrugging away from him and standing to leave, pulling her hair back into a high ponytail. “I ought to go, I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
  
“Bright and early,” he answered with a smile, beginning his overhead presses and she shoved her phone into her pocket and made the short walk home to shower. A good hot shower would loose her shoulders and get rid of the crick in her neck, at least she hoped it might.


	7. Chapter 7

Jaime’s head was pounding. He might have blamed it on the alcohol if he’d had more than a glass but he knew it was nothing more than the experience of spending time with his family. He adored them, and they found a thousand new ways with each day to make his life a misery for that sin.  

Cersei hated the world so Jaime removed himself in part from the rest of humanity. Tyrion hated the happy so Jaime made himself miserable. Tywin hated satisfaction and Jaime had spent his entire life trying to engage his ambition. Joanna hated nothing but the fact that she was dying, and they’d hated that together for a short while.  Still none of them had the time for him.

“Fuck!” His shin smacked into the side of his bed and the pain rang through his bone as his femur were a tuning fork.  

It was almost four when he left the apartment and walked headfirst into rush hour traffic. It was only a ten-minute walk to the office, he’d always hated living so close: it gave Tywin an excuse to summon him at ungodly hours, but now, in a street with a thousand suited businessmen, he was grateful that public transport wasn’t necessary.    
   
A pompous suit slammed into his shoulder as he walked down the busy path and he almost got hit in the face with another man’s briefcase.  _I hate this city,_ he reminded himself and wondered why he forced himself to carry on living here.  

“Late again, I see,” his father greeted as he stepped into the office building. Tywin sat in the foyer wearing a grey suit, poised for an argument as a lion about to pounce. “Upstairs, now, they won’t wait forever.”   
   
“Tell the rest of Canary Wharf to get out of my way and I would’ve been here on time,” Jaime grumbled as they crossed the foyer and stepped into the lift. “Evenso, Father, your business partners would wait the rest of their lives for a moment’s attention.”   
   
“Perhaps, they would. But I’m not interested in testing their loyalties because you can’t manage your time properly. I thought I’d taught you by now how these things mattered but it seems to have gone straight over your head. Too busy watching Netflix to leave home on time?” 

Jaime scowled as though his father was wrong. He had been watching _Sons of Anarchy_ and if that wasn’t a valid use of his time then he didn’t know what was. Just because his father knew how to be miserable every second of the day and still get on with life, didn’t mean Jaime had acquired the same skillset.    
   
Inside the meeting room sat Mace Tyrell, Ramsay Volmark, Brynden Tully, and Cersei. She was wearing a suit and frankly, looked more like she belonged there than the rest of them combined. Four old men were the heritage of the industry but she was the future, and more than that, she was the face of it. People didn’t think of Lannister jewels and want to look at Tywin, they wanted to see Cersei in all her glory.  

“Gentlemen,” Jaime greeted, reaching across the long table to shake three hands in turn before facing his sister. “Cersei.”   
   
“Let’s get on with this, shall we?” Cersei asked, looking up at him impatiently and opening her Macbook to take notes.  

For an hour, Jaime sat and feigned interest in the intricacies of the contract between Volmark Mining and Casterly. They went on endlessly about the costs and eventually settled on a number; the number that Tywin had initially offered up. Tully was even less interested than him, being in charge of the Board for Ethical Ore Extraction was a mindnumbing job at the best of times but when you’re overlooking the contractual considerations of the leaders in their field, it was barely worth being there at all.  

Tywin Lannister had always kept everything above ground, and if he didn’t, he had money enough to pay off every board member for their silence. Before the credit crunch, he might’ve needed such tactics to get them the profit margins he desired, but now, there was no competition at all. Every other contender in the industry had proved to be easy pickings. 

“What’s the estimated timespan on this project?” Cersei asked, ignoring the glare that she receive from her father for daring to open her mouth. She wasn’t supposed to be here, he most certainly hadn’t invited her and yet somehow, Cersei always seemed to be exactly where she oughtn’t.  _It’s not her company, no matter how much she wants it,_ Jaime thought.  

“We estimate eight months to have the materials in London and ready for wholesale,” Volmark answered

“Make it six,” Cersei demanded, tapping away virulently at her keyboard. “Six weeks to set, six weeks to extract. Screening and refining shouldn’t take more than a month and preparing them for transport should only take a fortnight. That’s not even five months. Half a year is generous.”   
   
_She cares about_ _this bollocks_ _._ Jaime wondered why his father wouldn’t just give in but he already knew: he wanted success for all three of his children. Cersei had her children and her image and she would have  _Solitaire_ if nothing else. He needed Jaime to take  _Casterly_ so he had something to say for himself. Tyrion was a lost cause though Tywin was yet to give up entirely. He had not raised mediocre children and he would not leave a mediocre legacy.  

“Of course. Ms Lannister. It’s only that there are other projects already going on. I can’t move every man in Lesotho onto this. There are already two open mines to maintain,” Volmark explained, blustering under the pressure of Cersei’s steely gaze.  

“Do we not give you enough money to hire new men? I would’ve thought £3 million was enough to staff a little diamond mine? Is the company struggling financially?” Her false concern was a little terrifying, and Volmark only shook his head determinedly. “So, six months then.”    
   
The meeting ended and Tywin had to rush off to wine and dine a new client. A Finnish diplomat’s daughter who was interested in starting a luxury jewellery company. Dany Targaryen, she was called.    
   
Jaime didn’t care. He was only interested in the fact that it took his father’s attention long enough to stop him asking about Brienne. Taking the woman out was one thing, convincing his father he was going to put an ounce of effort in was another story.  


	8. Chapter 8

All weekend, Brienne tried to forget the bloody thing was happening. She went to the Wilton Arms with Sandy for drinks on Saturday night and stumbled home to bed with blood made of Moretti. Sunday was longer still and she found herself again, curled up on the sofa with a pizza and the _Vikings_ boxset. Still, her mind was full of bullshit but it never thought of him.    
   
On Monday, she went to work and buried herself in paperwork until the sun went down and the office began to empty. She didn’t need to. There was nothing urgent for her to do but the purposelessness was worse than anything. Her father’s trade was everything she hated in the world but it was better than staying at home with only self-pity for company.  

“Excited for tomorrow?” Sansa asked over the phone that evening. “What are you going to wear? What are you going to order at the restaurant?”   
   
Brienne wasn’t listening. She let her friend babble on pointlessly as she flicked through coathangers until she found a dress that worked well enough. She didn’t have to look jaw-dropping anyway. There was nobody to impress.  

By Tuesday evening, she regretted that. Jaime was dressed head to toe in Gibson tweed and he looked half a God. He knew it, which killed the illusion a little as his swagger ground against her nerves and rose her blood pressure.  

“Brienne,” he greeted, pressing a kiss to her cheek before opening the door to  _Ducasse_  and ushering her inside. “You look pretty.”   
   
_Prick,_ she thought. She slipped her coat off and handed it kindly to the waiter.  _Not all of us wake up in the morning looking like Zeus._    
   
 “So do you,” she retorted. No man put more effort into his appearance. Metrosexual was an understatement. He was more vain than half of their clientele. “How are things?”   
   
“Busy,” he stated as he held her chair and pushed it in behind her, playing the gentleman as best he could. “Dad says it’s time to grow up so suddenly I have to attend every company meeting. I'll shove a diamond up his arse the next time he demands my presence. And you?” 

“A stretch further from ABH, but my tether always was longer than yours. Work’s a pile of shit, I’ll agree with you on that. I gave up my career for this company and it doesn’t bloody need me.” 

Their rapport had always been that way. The waiter looked at them critically but didn’t say a word. Instead, he took their orders and hurried away.  

“All those big dreams of the Olympics came to naught then?” Jaime asked with a cruel contempt. “What a shame.” 

“I qualified. How were championships? Oh wait, Daddy wouldn’t let you go, would he?” she snarked back. “Still living in his pocket, or rather...out of them.”   
   
_He hasn’t changed,_ Brienne realised.  _He’s still a shit and I’m still a shit and that’s just the way fate has fucked us over._ _He’s still the teenage boy who wants to run away from home and make a life somewhere new._  

His scowl seemed almost hurt. A wounded animal, pouting at the bitch who bit it. There was shame there too, as if he cared what she thought of him. They were neither of them too competitive and it was their saving grace – she kept her ambition on the field and he kept his on the track. They were never rivals, no matter how Cersei tried to spin things that way, they’d never cared to be better than one another, not since they were kids.  

For three hours, they sat and talked over expensive Chardonnay. She spoke of Italy and of the things she’d seen. Jaime only had the Wild West to compare: His 45th year had sent him on a soul-searching journey and he’d wandered through the Sonoran desert.  

“You’re straight out of a teen movie,” she laughed, wondering where he got off being so vapid.  

“Why, thankyou,” he replied, feigning a blush. 

“Not a compliment,” she deadpanned, before taking a sip. “God, I hate wine.” 

He laughed at her and wondered how Selwyn Tarth had raised such a woman. She was everything that her father wasn’t. She was boisterous and argumentative and she infuriated him no end but at least she was worth having a conversation with.  

They drank the rest of the bottle, pissing off the waiters with the way their faces cringed at the bitter taste. £165 for a bottle of Australian piss. They had to finish it, no matter how dreadful it tasted.    
   
“God, this is  _really_ bad, isn’t it?” Jaime complained as he drained his glass triumphantly.    
   
“You picked it!” Brienne balked, forcing down the last gulp.  

“I never claimed to have taste! I invited  _you_ to dinner,” he pointed out and she rolled her eyes at him. “Well, now we’ve tackled that particular beast.”   
  
Begrudgingly, their server offered the dessert menu and smiled thinly. Two chocolate tortes were delivered to them and it swept the lingering taste of sour grapes right away.    
   
“Do you remember that gateau at your eleventh birthday?” asked Jaime,  

“I remember you smacking me in the face with a slice quite vividly.” He pursed his lips at the memory of her with chocolate buttercream in her eyebrow and furious tears streaming down her chubby cheeks.  _She’d been asking for it._    
   
For two people who got along so poorly, they knew each other remarkably well. Their fathers had forced them together, all four, and cared little for how they got along so long as they were bickering with each other and out from under their feet for an afternoon.  

 _Boys will be_ _boys,_ Selwyn had told her when she’d hurried to him crying and buried her chocolatey face in his shoulder. She'd despised him for that longer than she might be willing to admit, but it had been her birthday and her friends had been there and he’d made her look a fool.  _Tyrion isn’t much of a boy, then,_ she’d replied. 

Jaime paid. His justification was that their fathers were forcing them to be there and so Tywin could pay for their food. The bill was more than she’d thought possible, she had forgotten the extravagance on offer in this world.  

“Well,” he began as they stood to leave. “Our duty is done. We have tried and failed to fall in love. Our fathers will be so disappointed.”   
   
“They’ll get over it,” Brienne concluded and offered a cordial peck goodbye before heading for Hyde Park Corner.  


	9. Chapter 9

It was a challenging morning. Robert was being difficult and had decided that the well-trod route from his to Cersei’s was no longer safely travelled alone by the children. _Myrcella should wait until Monday and go with her school friends._ Gregor hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of driving out to Windsor though he never explicitly complained.

Cersei had him pull up outside of the house and stalked towards the door with determination pressing at her back.  
  
“Cersei,” he greeted in a bawdy tone, pulling open the door before she even had time to knock on it. He wore a Harley Davidson t-shirt that clung to his round belly and cargo shorts that showcased the pasty white of his calves. “So wonderful to see you!”  
  
Her eyes rolled at him as she stepped past into the terraced house, ignoring the mess that surrounded them in hopes her children hadn’t caught any diseases. There were clothes hanging from the bannister to dry and a haphazard pile of shoes at the bottom of the staircase. _How far he’s fallen._  
  
“Tommen!” she called impatiently, desperate to be well away at the earliest convenience. “Myrcy!”

If it wasn’t for Eton, Robert would hardly see the kids, but with Tommen so close at hand, she hardly had an excuse. His ever-declining fortune paid the fees and there was a price she had to pay in exchange for that. Perhaps financing Tommen’s education herself would be less plight.

“Hi Mum,” her sulky teenage son greeted. Behind him came a much more cheerful, if slightly flustered, Myrcella who gave her mother a quick peck of the cheek as she ran into the kitchen and plucked an apple and took a bite out of it.

Cordially, Cersei made her goodbyes and headed out to the car. It was half-term and the kids were all hers until the weekend. Robert could fade to the back of her mind for a few days.  
  
On the drive home, Tommen told her all about the new game his father had bought him. _Grand Theft Auto._ She’d had to bite her tongue but later, she would make sure Robert knew just how she felt about the things he deemed to do for his children. All the worst things she thought possible. 

“Are you excited for championships, Myrcy?” Cersei asked in a lighter tone, turning around to face her children between the car’s two seats. “It’s getting close now!”  
  
“Will Uncle Tyrion come?” she asked and for a moment, her mother was taken aback. “I know he never goes _anywhere_ unless there’s booze but if _I_ ask him, he might say yes. I want everyone there; it matters an awful lot more than Granddad’s birthday if you ask me and everyone went to that.”  
  
Cersei smiled at her daughter. There was a sweetness in her, but it didn’t cloud her ambition and her drive to be outstanding. Tommen was all sweetness and Joffrey had been all drive but her little girl managed herself far more gracefully. Sometimes she wondered what Joffrey would be like now. _Nineteen years old. Would he have gone to university? Would he have a job? Would he live like a bachelor, like Jaime?_ She couldn’t even imagine it properly. 

“I’ll make sure he knows when it is, darling,” she offered.  
  
Tyrion kept the love of her children and she hated it. They were so kind that they would love a fool and never even notice he was mindless. They loved Robert, too. Watching the way they clung so eagerly to the people they loved made her think of Joff: she was the only one he ever clung to. The most determined little boy she’d ever known. He would sit up in bed and swallow down his sick and never show a glimpse of discomfort when he had visitors, right until the end. He wanted to seem strong and he didn’t care about weakening himself in the process.

“Shall we going shopping today, my loves?” she suggested with a smile and watched the way her daughter’s eyes lit up.  
  
The past eight years had been a cycle. Cersei would lose sight of the children she still had in the fog that lingered of the child she’d lost. They’d doubt her love and she would buy back their affection the only way she knew how. Cersei’s grief was like quicksand, but she wouldn’t let it swallow her, no matter how it slowed her down.

Gregor drove in silence. She wondered at the things he thought. He had driven her every day for twenty-six years and still she barely knew the man at all, he had been nothing short of mute since the day she met him.

 “Can I get a snake?” asked Tommen and she wondered where her youngest got such wild ideas. “Just a little one, a corn snake!”  
  
“Maybe for your birthday, dear,” she offered up reluctantly, watching the way he slumped back into his seat and returned his attention to his phone once again

They were the only thing she’d ever succeeded in. Her greatest achievement and still it was marred. She had raised three good children and let one of them slip through her fingers; businesses were so much easier to protect from harm.

Jaime had the right idea of things not wanting to put himself under the pressure of raising human beings like especially beloved livestock, the foxes would come, and he wasn’t a well-armoured man. She feared for the day Tyrion put a child into the world, he could never prove anything less than disappointing and she wondered how one heartbreak could ruin a man so easily. _Men are fickle beings_ , she conceded.  
  
The gift of womanhood had saved her an awful lot of plight, no matter than the world was blind to it. Women had things set out and it all worked in a discordant harmony, while men argued and argued until the sky was torn down around their heads. _A cock is a curse,_ she decided and wondered if her daughter had learnt that lesson yet.

 “We’re going to Grandad’s for dinner,” she told the kids, “since your father decided to make you unavailable for the party.”

Dinner with her father was a battle. Tommen and Myrcella were sword and shield. They loved their grandfather, but they loved her more and he knew he couldn’t put a toe out of line without expecting all the ferocity of two anger-stricken teens.


	10. Chapter 10

When Sansa had suggested going out for drinks, Brienne had been enthusiastic. When she’d heard who would be joining them, her desire to go out disappeared.

Twice in a week was definitely overkill. Even if she _was_ interested, she would’ve waited a week between dates. Sansa insisted though, and she was used to getting what she asked for.  
  
“One drink and then I’m making an excuse to go,” she agreed, hoping to God that somebody hit on him and dragged him away before they were forced to spend all night together again.  
  
It was Friday night, so her hopes were rested on the possibility that the bar was so busy Sansa wanted to go home. Apparently, the world was pitted against her because the pub was barely shy of empty.  
  
“Very dressed up, Bri,” Margaery complimented with a conspiratorial wink.  
  
She wasn’t entirely wrong. Peg legs, heels and her favourite coat. Nothing worth comment but compared with the boyfriend jeans she lived her entire life in, the change was made blatant.

Ygritte was running late from work, having dealt with some fugitive or other. None of the women had been paying proper attention as Jon explained; Ygritte never did anything without good reason, and they knew it. Jaime, however, was late with no good reason at all.  
  
Alcohol loosened her tongue. She couldn’t pretend to like him as soon as the first pint hit her.

“Running late to everything for forty-eight years, it’s a wonder you haven’t missed something important by now,” Brienne mocked. “Hasn’t Daddy bought you a Rolex yet?”  
  
“Seeing you doesn’t leave me eager to get anywhere on time, I’ll be honest,” he retorted, glaring at her over the top of his Heineken glass.  
  
“I’m hurt, I’ve been waiting longingly all day to keep your charming company.”

Four pairs of eyes locked across the table, each in turn, wondering what the fuck was going on. Nobody had seen the two of them like this, not in years. Brienne and Jaime avoided each other at all costs and when they _were_ forced together, they’d grown quite good at behaving themselves. Like this, though, with alcohol and no reason not to bicker, they were like children.

Brienne was on her fourth drink when she realised that she ought to make a move, that it was officially beyond the time at which she could make a run for it.

“I’d best go, I’m meeting my Dad for breakfast in the morning and I’d best not be hung out to dry,” she conceded, draining the last of her pint and standing.

“Fuck, how early is that? They’ve got the meeting with Martell at 8 and he’s making them traipse to bloody Brighton for it. I thought they’d be getting the first train.”  
  
“Oh, is he?” _Shit,_ she thought, realising she’d caught herself in a lie. “I’ll reschedule then, bugger getting up that early on a Saturday. He hadn’t mentioned it to me.”  
  
Jaime’s eyes bore into her and she could tell just how harshly he was judging her. _What a fool,_ he must have thought. _Just leave, I don’t give a flying fuck._ He found joy in making her squirm though, like kids who tortured insects in the garden, except she was in the insect.  
  
“One more then?” he suggested, waiting for her half-hearted excuse, and hid his shock at seeing her give a nod.

One turned into two, and then another before Sansa and Margaery admitted they both had deadlines coming up which needed work. Jon and Ygritte followed without making any real excuse, and Brienne was poised to go after them when Jaime spoke.

“You’re Jubilee line, right?” An awkward nod was all she offered. “We can walk together then.”  
  
“Need me to protect you?” He knew he was pissing her off. He knew that she’d been trying to find an excuse to leave all night and still he persisted. If she was a softer sort of woman, she might’ve thought it cruel but to her, it was nothing more than infuriating.

“Only from your wrath.”

They walked briskly, Jaime striding to keep up with her. The awkwardness between them made her muscles ache, her shoulders were tight and her jaw tense. Sansa had assured her they would be a group and if she wanted to ignore him then she could, and here she was, walking through St John’s Wood with him and no conversation to be had.

Her heel caught in a drain as she stepped off the curb and she almost tripped right over. Jaime caught her by the arm and let out a roaring laugh at her.  
  
“Still haven’t grown into your legs then,” he teased as she regained her footing and pulled away from his touch.

“At least I managed to _grow,_ little legs.” The name had always annoyed him. Tyrion had, rather ironically, been the one to come up with it when their father pointed out that Brienne had grown past Jaime at just twelve years old. He wasn’t little, not by any stretch, she was just disproportionately tall. It wasn’t his fault she was an Amazonian cast off.

People had joked for years that they were worse than an old married couple. Every time someone made the implication, it knocked a year off Brienne’s lifespan. It was the worst thing she could fathom and yet people had been teasing them with it since they were toddlers and he’d pull her hair. _That’s how boys show girls they like them,_ Melara had explained once at an uncomfortably forced sleepover with Cersei that led to Melara being excommunicated from Cersei’s inner circle.  
  
Inside the tube station, they found themselves alone aside from the staff. On the platform, they stood in a thoughtful quiet, waiting for a train to come and swaying tipsily.

“Do you ever think about what life might’ve been like if Gal had never boarded that plane?”  It surprised Brienne, the words had come out of nowhere but looked at her with curiosity.

“Every day,” she answered like it was obvious. “Don’t you?”

A train came and it was empty from front to back. They stepped on and took seats opposite one another without comment.  
  
“I try not to let myself,” he admitted. The two had been as close as brothers, closer even that Brienne had to him. It was perhaps the only reason that they hadn’t killed each other yet, they despised each other as much as two people were permitted to, but they understood each other in some small way.

“We’d neither of us be here right now,” she stated for a fact. “You’d have a multi-billion-pound business and I’d have a gold medal. Our fathers wouldn’t be trying to marry us off, let alone to each other.”  
  
Jaime started laughing like a madman. At first, it was just a snigger but now he was in full blown hysterics. It was bewildering to see him like this. She hadn’t seen his so happy in years. His constant state of being was misery. 

“Our Dads…” he began, drawing in a deep breath and swallowing down more laughter. “have set us up. What would he think of us? He’d call us sad little shits and start a book with his mates about how long it would take us to murder each other.”  
  
At Green Park, a lone man boarded. He paid no attention to the way Jaime continued to laugh and the way Brienne scoffed at him.  
  
“He’d make it into some huge project,” Brienne interjected. “ _Guys,_ he’d say, _you have to see how long you can make them believe you’re really fucking._ And we’d do it, because we always let ourselves get involved in his stupid ideas and we always got in shit for it.”  
  
Jaime’s eyes lit up with mischief and Brienne wondered if it was the alcohol or the mention of Galladon that had eased the tension between them. He’d always managed it, even from beyond the grave apparently.

“Let’s do it!” Brienne looked at him like he had just suggested heroin. “We’re both miserable either way. Let’s inject a little fun into our lives for once!”

“You’re mad!” The train came into Westminster and she had to rush off to the door before she could make an argument against it. She would relieve him of the notion in the morning if he remembered. The lager had gone straight to his head it seemed.


	11. Chapter 11

_It was surprising how quickly she’d agreed_ , Jaime thought.  By quick, he meant an hour on the phone detailing what a genius plan it was and a written agreement that if It all went disastrously wrong, she had the defence of coercion... and this was simply for the privilege of her going on one more  _date_ with him. 

“I’ll speak to you soon, darling,” he mocked, rolling his eyes as she hung up and left him to the silence of his car. It stood parked on the driveway of his father, who had summoned him mysteriously yet another time. _Here we go again,_ he thought.

He’d expected another ultimatum. He’d expected to be interrogated about dinner with Brienne. What he hadn’t expected was to find his brother sat in the library looking remarkably sober.

“Tyrion,” he greeted. “What are we doing here?”

“Just now? Waiting for our darling sister I presume,” he said, staring absentmindedly at the wood fire burn. “It must be important. He likes to make us suffer but Dad reviles our company just the same as we do his. Something’s happened.”  
  
Tyrion was a pessimist, it was true. Years of living as a loveless bachelor with nobody but the bottle to keep you company was a sad existence. More than his negativity, however, Tyrion leant on his logic. He was rarely wrong, and it was terribly infuriating and right now, rather worrying.

“Can I go yet?” came Cersei’s voice from the hallway. It was a matter of moments before Tywin stepped through the other door as though he’d been waiting right outside of it, and Jaime could tell straight away that he wasn’t in the mood for any nonsense.

“I need you all to be adults,” he declared, dropping into the high-backed leather chair. “I know it often proves a challenge to the three of you but there’s a lot at stake here.”

Jaime leant against the pool table and started to pull at a loose thread of his jumper absentmindedly. Cersei straightened up as though preparing for a blow. Tyrion just sat there with an impatient glare. It was hard to believe the three of them had been raised by the same man and grown up in the same house. They were strangers to each other. 

“I’m dying,” he began, and if anybody had expected a reaction then they were idiots. “There’s time but I won’t leave it to you three to sort my affairs, I want them in order. The government is getting none of the fortune I have forged so the bulk of the properties and monies will be transferred in name within the next couple of months. I will not let you take actual control of them; my wish is not to watch the world I built fall apart from my death bed. It’s time to step up, and I need the assurance of all three of you that you aren’t going to act like idiots.”  
  
It was Jaime’s turn to look impatient. He’d heard this speech a thousand times and just because it was imminent didn’t change what it meant. This was no news at all to him, and while his heart asked him to be sad about his father’s oncoming death, his mind told him that he would get a smack around the ear for his sentimentality.

Tyrion fell into a brazen laughter, similar to that which had echoed through the Jubilee line only a few hours ago. It had seemed that he was sober, but the façade was gone now, and it was baffling to see the way he turned that on and off, like his sobriety was, at all times, an act. “In any other family, there’d be crying and reassurances and kind words. This family is a better business model than _Casterly_ itself.”  
  
_That’s an insult to the business,_ Jaime thought. _A bachelor, a drunkard, and a megalomaniac._ Cersei was the best of them, and that was a terrifying thought.The Lannister family was everything that a person hoped they didn’t end up with in the world, and yet the money made everyone wish they were them.

“I’ll contact Mr Varys and he can draw up the contracts for the movement of any assets. I’ll organise a meeting with stakeholders for _Solitaire_ as well, the better we communicate with them, the less this will affect the company,” Cersei dictated. Jaime hated how calm she was and wondered if her cold, dead heart was in the grave with her son or if it had shrivelled up long before that.

“And you two?”  
  
Jaime looked at him with genuine contempt. The fact that he thought there was a free brain cell to consider the company when he’d just learned his father was going to be dead soon was so entirely like him.

“I presume I’m not being trusted with anything important, so I will open a bank account in Argentina and give you the details to start funnelling your money out in hopes of avoiding your taxes,” Tyrion chimed in with a condescending tone that made Tywin’s jaw twitch.

All eyes turned on him and he was done with it. There was nothing in the world he wanted less than to discuss business plans right now. He wanted a lot of things that he couldn’t have in that moment but more than all of that, he wanted to get out.

His father’s voice carried after him as he took a beeline for the front door and got into his car. The feeling of an engine underneath him, even now, did wonders for his nerves. He wished he’d brought the Maserati, but it was good enough, so he ramped up the radio to fill the car with unfamiliar music and put his foot down on the accelerator.

It wasn’t until three hours later that his phone rang. The screen lit up and he was surprised to see that it wasn’t in fact his father, nor his sister prepared to tell him what a moron he was. It was Brienne.

“I’m busy,” he declared as he answered the phone.

“There is a decline button,” she retorted. “Your Dad came around, and I heard him talking. I was calling to check on you, but if you’re going to be a prick then I’ll leave you to find out what your brains feel like against the Orbital’s concrete.”  
  
“Can I come over?”

 “The kettle’s on,” she said finally before silence returned to the car but for a singular chime to tell him that she’d sent her address. He needed to take it out on someone and it may as well be her. She was a part of the problem. 


	12. Chapter 12

By the time he arrived, it was almost dinner and he’d yet to eat anything all day. He often did. _It’s a terrible habit,_ he chided himself but there never seemed to be enough time in the day to eat when he ought to. His stomach rumbled as a polite reminder that he was in fact hungry. 

“You made it here in one piece!” Brienne feigned excitement as she opened the door to him and led him through to the kitchen. “Your brain isn’t paté on the motorway.”  
  
 Jaime rolled his eyes at her and took a seat at the breakfast bar, watching as she made two mugs of tea. Hers was strong enough to stand a spoon in and barely got to see the milk carton as she let a splash into her mug. It still nauseated him, as it had since they were kids and she’d made _him_ a mug of tea that strong.

“Give it here,” he demanded, stretching out his hand for the milk carton and pouring freely into his own mug until it was almost spilling over and it was the light beige of a digestive. “ _That_ is what a good cuppa looks like, you heathen.”  
  
One day they were likely to agree on something. It was a big world with a lot of opinions and somewhere along the line, they had to think similarly. In thirty-five years, that day had yet to come though both had told a few white lies in order to keep the game going. Brienne still believed he hated potatoes. Jaime still didn’t know her true feelings towards _Titanic._ There were a dozen tiny little things that they felt the same about, but stubbornness dictated they would be fools to admit it.

“So,” Brienne began. “You’re angry at your Dad for dying. You sound a little like a child, but worse notions have definitely passed through your mind.”

Jaime burned his lip as he went to sip the tea and hissed through his teeth. _Still impatient as a boy,_ she observed. It was funny to watch him struggle with it.

“I’m not mad he’s dying. I’m mad he’s being a prick about it,” Jaime pointed out. “Is Sel here?”  
  
“No, your Dad dragged him off to some meeting or other. He seemed stressed. Why?”  
  
“The scheme,” Jaime started. “I- Listen, I know I’m the one who convinced you it could work but, knowing this, I can’t. He’s fucking dying, and he’s panicked that his kids aren’t all married off and you’re his last resort. I won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him think I settled just to keep him sweet. He can die thinking his precious legacy’s going with him.”  
  
_Settled,_ she thought. _You mean stooped._ Ever since puberty, he’d been one of many to look down on her. She wasn’t dainty like a lady and she wasn’t curvy like a woman, she was built like a man. It didn’t bother her so much, not until she thought about the way other people saw her and then she was reminded of the fact that she would never be beautiful. No matter how she tried to dress it up, she would always look half a boy.

His eyes were locked on her, searching for an emotion somewhere. To see the scathing gaze of someone ready to cast cruel words, or to see the kicked puppy inside of her. Neither was there, only Brienne with her cordial half-smile and an expectant watchfulness to her. 

“So we can go back to simply despising each other again?” she asked with a wide grin. “What a relief!”  
  
“Such a concrete part of your identity, is it?” Jaime teased and took a gulp of his tea. “You so rarely cross my mind these days.”  
  
It was untrue. She often slipped into his thoughts when his mind was wallowing in grief for Galladon. The two had come as a mismatched pair and much as Jaime hated to admit it, the obnoxious little tomboy in his mind was just as essential to the memories as her brother. For the first twenty years of her life, they’d spent more time together than apart. Even when they all grew up a little, Galladon dragged them to the pub once a week without fail. A part of him still hadn’t gotten used to the lack of her annoying presence.

“Why do you let him control you?” Brienne asked and it felt strange to be so genuine. Their relationship was built on years of carefully constructed façade and suddenly, she was just Brienne.

“He’s my father,” Jaime reminded her as though she might have forgotten. She hadn’t. It was impossible to be in a room with him and not remember. He wasn’t Jaime Lannister: he was Tywin Lannister’s first son and the heir to the Casterly fortune and a long list of things, but he was never just Jaime. “He’s the only one left whoever acted like I was capable of becoming _something_ worthwhile.”  
  
“You’re a coward,” she told him in a tone that made him feel five inches tall. “He wants you to be something and when you can’t make him happy, you decide to be miserable out of spite, but fucking be happy, or be miserable, I don’t give a shit but stop living your life for him. Stop running after his approval like you’re ever going to get it, he’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure you know what a disappointment you are, no matter what you do.”

It was the closest he was ever going to get to kindness from her. Brienne was not _kind_ to him and he was fine with it. She didn’t want to spend her time listening to him whine but she felt a sense of responsibility. More than the company and reputation and all of it, when Galladon had died, she’d gained responsibility for _him:_ like a ward for her to take care of, except he was far more infuriating than any child. She did as little as she could: she'd been there while his grief was as its rawest, she'd been there when his father told him he'd been disowned if he didn't stop racing, she'd been there when there was nobody else but if there was any excuse to finesse her way out of her unspoken pledge to her brother, she would take it.   
  
“Fine,” Jaime said. “Plan’s back on. I’m going to force him to be proud. It won’t work, not really, but it’ll be enough.” _Right over his head,_ Brienne thought. _He doesn’t even realise that he’s doing it. His entire life wasted on gaining the approval of an impossible man._  
  
“Whatever.” It would be good for her at the least. If anything, the news had tipped the scales in her favour. There was a lot to be gained from such an arrangement. Dealing with his ridiculousness was the price to pay.  
  
And so it began. They organised another dinner - his choice this time - and agreed on the details of what their fathers would be told. Brienne was already getting sick of the sight of him. What had she agreed to?


	13. Chapter 13

It had been strange. Sansa never really went home to see her parents very often, she’d meet them for lunch or dinner but she hadn’t stayed in the house since she’d left for university. When she called Brienne asking if she wanted to come over for a glass of wine, it seemed as though they’d been cast back in time two years. 

“Get inside!” Sansa commanded as she pulled open the door to see Brienne standing in the heavy rain in no jacket. “It’s chucking it down, what are you doing wearing a bloody t-shirt?”  
  
“It wasn’t raining when I left my place,” Brienne justified, running her fingers through her wet hair and tucking it behind her ears. “I was surprised when you said here, I’m so used to coming to see you at the apartment now.”  
  
Sansa grabbed her a towel and a jumper to wear before sitting down in the conservatory and pouring two large glasses of wine. It was more bloody Chardonnay, Brienne realised, though she wouldn’t complain.

“Mum’s getting broody again. The boys are both away at school now, and Arya’s so busy with training that she’s hardly ever here. Robb’s on the other side of the world. If I don’t make an effort to spend more time here, I’m scared she’s going to make it a half dozen without even thinking. Dad’s home at last, but he spends so much time at the office that he’s barely conscious when he gets in at night.”

Brienne wondered at that. It was hard to imagine having so many people and still feeling a little bit alone in the world. She had nobody, not apart from her father. Everyone who’d ever loved her was dead.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Brienne reassured. For twenty-three years, she had watched Catelyn love her children and she had seen the way she let it consume her. It was hard to believe anyone could feel that much love and still have space for more of it.  “It’s been twelve years. Do you really think she’d even try?”  
  
Sansa arched an eyebrow as if to imply Brienne was underestimating her mother’s unbearable obsession with feeling needed. She had watched the two’s relationship rise and fall with the tide, from good to bad and back again.

“Spoken to Jaime?” Sansa asked teasingly, letting her lips curl as she changed the subject.

“Yeah, we erm- we’ve decided to give it a go. I don’t know what you kids say these days, we’re- dating? Is that it? A lot’s happened and if there’s even the slightest chance we could work, we’d better take it,” Brienne tried to explain, stumbling over her words hopelessly. _I can’t lie to her,_ Brienne told herself, and she had known what a terrible liar she was and yet somehow it stuck.

“Oh my God, Bri!” Sansa squealed, a grin spreading across her face widely. “I told you he was charming! I thought you hated each other though? Or is that it…finding better uses for all that energy?”  
  
She blushed fiercely at the implication. It was logical that if they were dating, they were probably fucking too, but the thought of her and Jaime together made her shiver with… _that’s not revulsion, what is that?_

“I don’t know. All that drama happened a long time ago, I don’t even remember why I’m mad at him half of the time. We were just kids,” she said. It was a lie. That hatred was still there, somewhere behind all the years of affability. It was rooted deep down inside of her where she couldn’t control it even if she wanted to.  
  
They spoke until the bottle between them was empty. Sansa chattered about living with Margaery and how much simpler life was now they were under one roof. They still barely saw each other but it was something, at least, to come home to the same bed each night and to sleep side by side even if that was all the time they had together in a day.  
  
Sansa had been besotted with the Tyrell girl since they first met at one of Tywin’s bigger functions. At first, everyone had thought it would burn out quickly, but three years on, they were still going. Brienne couldn’t even begin to imagine that, she’d never been with _anyone_ really. _Ronnet never counted,_ she dwelled,  _nor did Renly._

“Hello ladies,” greeted Ned Stark as he stepped into the conservatory with a smile and leant down to kiss Brienne’s cheek. “We haven’t see you in ages, sweetheart. Been avoiding us?”  
  
“Of course not, Ned,” she answered warmly. “I’ve missed you all.”  
  
It was an odd relationship. One borne of convenience, but it had grown to be more. The Starks were practically family to her now.  Ned had been a client before he was a friend, and now it was hard to believe that her father worked with him.  
  
“Did my Dad tell you about Tywin yet?” she asked softly.  
  
“This morning,” he admitted. “But the rest of the board won’t be told until the next meeting. Everyone’s worried about what Rickard’s going to do.”  
  
Sansa was looking between the two of them confusedly. _Nobody’s told her,_ Brienne realised. The girl had no real affection for Tywin, nobody did apart from Jaime, not even his other children. Still, she had a gentle heart and it would sadden her all the same. 

“Tywin’s got cancer, love,” Ned explained. “He’s treating it like a waiting game instead of a fight. The company is set to be Jaime’s soon.”  
  
If the atmosphere wasn’t already strange, the way that the redhead widened her eyes at Brienne did nothing to ease it. _Every cloud,_ Brienne could almost hear her say with sadness in her gaze.

By the time she left, it was dark outside and there were puddles on the floor though the rain had stopped hours ago. She thought, as she journeyed home, of the future she was looking at now. Jaime had somehow wheedled himself into her life and she was stuck with him until further notice. Once Tywin passed, they might regain some sense of normality, but the man seemed as alive as he ever was, and she had no idea how long she would be lumbered with his clown son. _Why can’t he just find a real girlfriend?_


	14. Chapter 14

It was getting late. He wanted to stay where he was and eat pizza and pretend that his father wasn’t dying but it had been three days. If he didn’t leave soon, his father would finish up for the day and he’d wake up tomorrow morning to five new missed calls, as there had been each morning so far.

He threw on a jacket and headed for the office, hoping in some small part of his mind that his father would have left, and he could put off this conversation for another day.

The office was almost empty. Mace sat dutifully at his desk however, and looked up at Jaime when he walked in.

“Jaime,” he greeted with a tense smile. “what are you doing here?”  
  
“Guess,” he snarked and headed straight for his father’s office door, not bothering to knock. “Hi Dad.”  
  
“Still incapable of answering your phone,” Tywin complained as he looked his son up and down and judged his attire harshly though he made no effort to articulate it. “Ready to be an adult now?”  
  
“I’ve got plans with Brienne this afternoon so can we hurry this along?” Jaime asked, flopping into the office chair. “I only came so you’d stop calling me.”

It wasn’t a lie as such. He _was_ meeting Brienne but it was more a matter of evening than afternoon. He had two hours to kill before he could even think about leaving the house but his father didn’t need to know that.  
  
“With Brienne?” his father asked in genuine surprise. “I’m pleased. Seeing sense at last, she’s a good girl and well suited to you. She’ll keep you in check, her father seems to have done a better job than I, more’s the pity.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes at that. _Well-suited_ was the very last word that came to mind when he thought of himself with Brienne. Their relationship barely clung to the realms of plausibility, it hardly made _sense_ and everybody knew it. His remark about Selwyn though? That was all fact: he was the kind of father people dreamed of having. Leaving him with only one child had been cruel of the fates.

“I take it you’re here to discuss the company then,” Tywin surmised from his silence, relieved in a sense. “There’s not _too_ much to do, I’m pleased to say. You’ll need to be here for the meeting with the stakeholders to keep them all confident in the business and you’ll need to find time to meet with Varys, but other than that. It’s just a matter of mentally preparing yourself: look over the accounts we have, consider the contacts I’ve made, figure out what you want to do with the company when it’s yours.”  
  
All these words were old. Recycled and reused every time Tywin spoke about the company as though he thought Jaime might have forgotten them. Forty-eight years of preparing him for it and suddenly, it was time to start paying attention. _I’ve been listening all along,_ Jaime wanted to say but his father wasn’t an easy man. He was many things, but he wasn’t that.

“That’s it?” Jaime asked with a scoff. “That’s the urgent information you needed to tell me two minutes after announcing your imminent death. God, you’re brainless sometimes.”  
  
Tywin’s gaze turned to steel as he watched his son squirm. _I’ll always be a boy in his eyes,_ Jaime knew, and he knew that’s why he’d never warrant his approval. Not ever. And still, Jaime tried.

“If you were your sister, I’d ask you to start shadowing me. Spend your days in the office, sit in on the meetings, train as a protégé ought to, but you won’t. You’ll make a mockery of the family name and you’ll have nothing to gain from it. I’ve taught you all there is. Whether it has been absorbed is a far greater question.”  
  
His lack of faith was nothing new. For years, Tywin had been selling his shares in _Casterly_ a percent at a time. The Lannister stake was just barely majority now, still leading, but close enough that two partners together could overrule a poor decision. He’d told Jaime what he was doing, explained it to his own son as if it was a tactic meant for someone else. Notions of the inheritance being a happy occasion were long dead in his mind. 

“I’ll get out of your hair then,” Jaime said, making for the office door. _At least it was brief,_ he thought. “Bye, Mace.”  
  
“Bye, Jaime,” he returned with an awkward smile.  
  
Soon, he would be Mace’s boss. The man who had taught him business and watched Thomas the Tank Engine with him would be his employee. It was going to be awfully strange. Each partner had been listening to brazen criticism of Jaime since the day he was born and winning their respect was going to be something of a brave endeavour.

Selwyn would be the worst of them. Selwyn who had half raised him, saw him as a son, and yet nothing would force him to look at Jaime like he knew what in the world he was doing. He’d held him as he sobbed after Galladon’s funeral, he’d watched him fall apart and he’d helped him to pick up the pieces. It was hard to watch all that and see a stable, reliable man on the other side.

He had months to figure it out, though. Months in which his father would shun anyone who suggested he was less than perfect for the job to their faces and tell Jaime they were right behind their backs.

Far more pressing issues ought to take precedence in his mind; first and foremost, the fact that he had dinner with Brienne in two hours and he hadn’t readied himself for the inevitable bickering that would come. It was exhausting, no matter how much he thrived on the way her brow creased in dismay.  
  
_A nice relaxing bath ought to do the trick_ , he thought and hurried home ahead of the rush hour traffic that was beginning slowly to fill every path.


	15. Chapter 15

“Sushi, really?” she asked as they stepped inside the restaurant.

“Oh, hush. They have plenty of veggie options, I checked when I booked the table,” he assured her, sitting down. “I wanted sushi, I’m not limiting myself because you care about the little fishies.”

Brienne glared at him as she glanced over the menu and considered her options. In his defence, the vegetarian section was rather more extensive than she might have expected from such an establishment. Yet he’d done it to annoy her, and he was rather skilled in that.

“Nice touch. You’re a prick,” she told him simply. “I can’t believe I ever agreed to date you.”  
  
“You wound me,” he answers, clutching his chest dramatically.  
  
He would never grow up. Brienne had resigned herself to being babysitter for as long as this arrangement lasted. He had the wit on a teenage boy and the maturity levels of a toddler. She’d been dealing it with long enough, he wouldn’t wear through her resolve now.

“What did your Dad say?”  
  
“That’s you’d keep me in line,” he answered with a mirthful smirk. “He hasn’t the faintest idea.”  
  
Brienne wondered at that. _The faintest idea of what?_ By all measures, she did have him in line. He was a means to an end, and she had far more to gain from the arrangement than him. From the spinster daughter of Selwyn Tarth, to the woman on the richest arm in England. When the arrangement was done, she knew how many men would come wooing her.  
  
Once the food arrived, they settled into their normal bickering. They chatted about their lives of late: this was not a date, it was a strategic meeting. Every facet of their lives was committed to memory and a fragile falsehood was constructed at the table of a sushi restaurant.

The first dinner had been a shambles. Sansa had forced the two of them together and while drunk, they both admitted their longing for companionship. From that evening, they had been exploring with seriousness the possibilities borne of their relationship. It was close enough to the truth. At least it was founded in an honest beginning.  
  
“We slept together that night,” Jaime declared confidently. “You asked me to come back to yours and we fell into bed together. It’s just about the only thing we can do without disagreeing.”  
  
Brienne scoffed. She would definitely disagree with him. She knew just from the stories she had heard that he was a man who thought he knew exactly how to fuck a woman and wouldn’t take guidance. She was not a woman who took anything, much less a cock, lying down.  
  
“I’m not sure how pleased our fathers will be to hear the details of _that,_ ” she remarked.

In another life, she might’ve loved him. She knew that. Cersei had been whispering it into her ear since they were girls and she’d always known what it would mean. It would bring only heartbreak. She never let herself think about it too long, and after the things he’d done, he wasn’t worthy of her affections anymore.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. _We’re here to keep our fathers happy, to make our lives easier, to find some sort of solace. It was nothing real._

“Have you told yours yet?” asked Jaime, surprised to see her nod. “Is he positively thrilled?”  
  
“He actually is. God knows why, but he thinks we could make each other happy.”  
  
They ate together until the both of them were gorged on good food. Jaime dangled his last salmon roll under her nose as if to tempt her, but she grimaced at the smell. Ever since she was twelve, since the day she decided to go vegetarian, he had teased her relentlessly for it and somehow, he never got bored

Before long, they ushered the waiter and paid their bill. Brienne’s gut felt heavy with the food she had eaten and she thought of how she groggy she would feel in the gym come tomorrow morning. Her body was a machine, it had been all her life, and she was used to keeping it in prime condition. Jaime kept no such regard for his own physique though much to her dismay, he stayed slim and strong.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked at her grimace.  
  
“Bloated,” she complained. “You’re going to make me fat with all this junk.”

The walk to the station was a quick one and they were going in opposite directions so she would soon be rid of him. He arched an eyebrow at her with an implication she couldn’t quite read.

 “I could feed you a horse and you wouldn’t put on a pound,” he exclaimed. “Not that it matters to me, it’s your next lover who’s going to be fool enough to think twice about your body.”  
  
He was right, infuriatingly so. She could eat all she wanted, and she would remain the same. Eight-five kilos of pure muscle. Since she was nineteen, it had never moved more than a pound or so.  
  
 It didn’t matter, he was right about that too. Nobody was like to want her for her body. She had the body of an athlete, not a woman. There were no curves to her; she was a wall of solid muscle and she had never bothered to try and soften herself for the sake of a weaker man’s touch.  
  
“I’ll text you,” Jaime said as they reached the bottom of the stairs and were about to walk in opposite directions. “Get home safe.”  
  
“You too.”  
  
On the tube, she passed a man who looked like Hunter. Her mind was cast back to him for the first time in years. At least, it was the first time that she’d really thought of him and not what had happened. Jaime really did insist on stirring up old memories. _Fuck him,_ she told herself. _He isn’t worth your thoughts._

She curled up in bed that night and hoped in some blackened part of her soul that Tywin might hurry along the process a little. She despised herself for it but she hoped he was smoking a cigarette right now.


	16. Chapter 16

Arya sat away from the other girls on the team at lunch. She didn’t get along with them very well. They still hadn’t forgiven her for beating Myrcella in the fencing and she hadn’t forgiven Myrcella for winning the event.

“He’s dating Brienne Tarth now,” Myrcella declared and it drew Arya’s attention. “God knows why. He’s always dated such fit girls and now he’s going for her? She scares me.”  
  
“Isn’t she taller than him?” Arianne asked. “I’ve always thought she was quite pretty but imagine being with a guy smaller than you. I don’t know what I’d do.”  
  
Arya looked at all of them and wondered where they got off sounding like fucking men with the way they objectified her. It was embarrassing to hear girls her own age saying such dumb shit.

They giggled and Arya was tempted to drag Myrcella outside by her pretty little ponytail.  
  
“Jealous, Myrcy?” she teased as she approached their table with a cruel glare. “Jealous that your uncle’s getting laid when Max is avoiding you like the plague?”  
  
The Lannister girl steeled her jaw and stood up.  
  
“If I was fucking a woman like that, I think I’d consider celibacy,” Myrcella sneered. “Why do you care? Hoping she’ll teach you how to ride a little better?”

Her tone dipped slightly at the word _ride_ and it gave her away. Nobody gave a shit what Brienne looked like. It was the twenty-first century and Queen’s Gate’s unofficial motto had become ‘girls don’t tear down girls’. It was because Brienne used to ride, because she was everything Myrcella aspired to be one day.

“Oh my God,” Arya exclaimed at her realisation. “You’re actually jealous. Just because she got to Worlds and you’re scared you won’t. You’d begrudge her that success. You really are a bitch, Myrcy.”  
  
Her cheek stung before she even saw Myrcella’s hand coming for her. It was swift and clean, like a mother’s slap might be, she imagined. It hurt but she was enraged more than upset and before she knew it, her hand was bunching Myrcella’s pretty little ponytail and yanking it harshly.

Arianne and Mya watched with wide eyes. Neither of the girls knew what to do, they were Myrcella’s friends by all counts, but they weren’t going to burn bridges with Arya, not when she was currently proving what a terrible idea that was. Instead, they simply observed the sport with frightened yet curious expressions.

“I’ll kill you!” the blonde shrieked as she sent her knee into Arya’s ribs and watched the girl lose her footing from the blow. She took a firm hold of Arya’s hair and held her at an awkward angle, so she might look down on her. “You think I won’t make it? You think I couldn’t tear apart every little girl, just like you, who thinks she’s a champion just because she knows the rules? I could rip you limb from limb but I won’t bother. Beating you on game day is so much more fun.”

She dropped Arya and the poor girl almost hit the deck before catching herself and standing up with a defiant grimace. Her ribs already felt bruised and her scalp felt half raw with the way Myrcella had pulled her hair. She’d survived worse, and without complaining, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t suffering a little.

“Arya, are you alright?” Mya asked shyly, ignoring the glare that Myrcella shot her.  
  
The entire dining hall was watching them. A hundred pairs of eyes burned into her back as she turned to leave. Mya followed after her with concern all over her face, and Arianne almost went too, if it weren’t for Myrcella’s grasp around her risk and the softness in her eyes begging not be left alone.

Arianne dropped her into her seat and resigned herself to stay at Myrcella’s side. For years,  she’d tried to help her and for years, she’d watched her tumble further from grace. Her family was a mess, and everybody knew it, it was bound to have an effect on her and Arianne just wanted to take her home so she could see what normality looked like. She thought about that a lot, about the girl Myrcella might be if she weren’t so hardened by the way she’d grown up.

“Is she right?” Arianne asked softly, watching Myrcella drop into the seat opposite.  
  
It’s not really a question. Arianne knows it was the truth. All her life, Myrcella hated people for having the things she wanted and admired them all the same. It was just a part of her, that part that was raised with the fear of betrayal put into her. Cersei reminded her children every day that the world wasn’t on their side and they had to fight for everything they had, Arianne had heard a couple of times. 

“She threw it all away for the family fucking company,” Myrcella bit out. “If my Grandpa told me that I was inheriting Casterly, I’d tell him to find someone else. She gave it all up so easily. If it was that easy to pass over, she never deserved it in the first place.”  
  
They stayed there in a tense silence until lunch was over and the dining hall started to clear. Arianne loved her best friend. She’d kill a person for her. She’d forgive her anything, but she refused to indulge her. One day, Myrcella would escape her mother’s grasp and she would realise that she didn’t need to despise everybody.  
  
At her jaw, there were three streaks of red like claw marks from the scrap with Arya. Arianne wanted to hug her friend and tell her that the move with her knee was a smart one, but more than that, she wanted her friend to learn that success wasn’t finite, and that the world wasn’t set to ruin her life, though her mother might.

Arya was late to fourth period. When Mr Qyburn asked where she had been, she only apologised weakly and rushed to the back of the classroom to sit sullenly. Mya sat next to Arianne as she always did and hoped she wouldn’t be excommunicated for cavorting with the enemy.

From behind the three of them, it was visible how Myrcella was seething and Arya almost giggled at the sight. _It’s what she deserves._


	17. Chapter 17

Jaime looked at the microwave meal that sat in front of me and wondered when he had become _this_. He was the sort of man that didn’t leave the house all day, cooked a meal for one, and ate it on the sofa watching television on his own.  
  
His father would smack him around the ear to see him now. _I raised one waster of a son, not two,_ he would say.

There was no reason to get up. There was no reason to do anything today. There was nothing to do even if he’d wanted to.  
  
He’d done his laundry. He’d taken a long bath. He’d written half a dozen e-mails he never intended to send. He’d spent three hours shopping online for new suits. There was nothing else to do, so he sat, and he ate, and he pitied himself.

It was evening now, late enough that calling his brother _might_ not wake him up. Even if he did, the fucker deserved it for sleeping so late. 

“Tyrion?” he started when no sound came through the phone. “Are you alive?”  
  
“Sadly,” the voice came sarcastically. “What can I do for you, dear brother?”  
  
_Such a Lannister,_ Jaime thought. Only a Lannister would answer their phone to their own brother and ask him what he wanted.  
  
“Nothing more than your delightful company,” he chided. If Tyrion wasn’t already suspicious, he certainly was after that. It had been a running joke for nigh on forty years that they were few things the Lannister children hated more than facing their father alone, but among them was facing their father together.

“Okay, I’ll play,” Tyrion offered. “What’s this I’ve heard about you and Brienne then? That sweet young thing doesn’t need you nosing around her. I thought you two were practically mortal enemies.”

 “Not enemies,” Jaime admitted. “Rivals, perhaps but we never had any _real_ hatred for one another. But, erm, listen I’m telling you because you’re the only one I know who won’t use it against me. It’s a ruse.”

Even without seeing him, Jaime knew an intrigued grin had spread across his brother’s face and he was tapping his fingers against his thighs in an impatient confusion. _Explain,_ he pleaded silently.

“Dad and Selwyn tried to set us up, and we both realised the mutual benefits that a relationship might bear, so we’re faking it,” he continued. “You can’t tell anyone. Everybody has to believe it, _everybody_. I’m only telling you because you don’t go out so you’re not likely to spill it and I needed someone to talk to about it that isn’t her.”  
  
“What is there to gain from dating the woman everyone’s been expecting you to marry since we were kids?” Tyrion questioned, a little confused.

It was a fact. People had been saying what a sweet couple they’d make since they were toddlers. Everyone had been waiting for the day they started, ever so slowly, to fall in love. For forty years, the world had watched with baited breath. People had lost faith, lost interest, but there were still those that lingered.

“Father’s threatened to take the company if I’m not seen to be making serious efforts to settle down and produce an heir. Selwyn’s getting impatient about Brienne’s heir as well. The world would love to see us together, as you say, they’ve been waiting for this all our lives. It makes life easier to keep it up.”

 _It didn’t make anything easier._ They were in it for the game more than anything. He was in it to keep his father sweet, for certain, but it was fun. It was the game they were playing that kept him invested in it. He told himself that, at least. _This was an endeavour borne of mischief, not of spite._  
  
“Oh, no!” Tyrion feigned sarcastically. “The company you care so dearly about and have vying for all your life? You _must_ stay with her.”  
  
Jaime rolled his eyes with such force Tyrion could feel it through the phone. They all had a complicated relationship with the company, it was just part of their lives that they were constantly battling between loving it like family and hating it for stealing just that from them. Cersei was unwavering in her love of it, not as family, but as power, which was all she cared about.

They chatted for ten minutes. Jaime learned that his little brother had a new woman. _Not a girlfriend._ Tyrion didn’t believe in girlfriends, or monogamy, or romance. He believed in sex and booze and anything else he could lose himself in for an evening. 

 _Imagine normality,_ Jaime thought. What would life be like if Tywin Lannister hadn’t been their father and they hadn’t been his children?  
  
Tyrion swore his silence and Jaime let him return to the scotch he was nursing tenderly at home. He was just about the only one who could be trusted not to tell the entire world, if only to preserve Jaime’s bachelor reputation. Women across all of England would think their dreams shot to pieces should such knowledge be made public.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask. Don't even bother reading. This literally exists because the gc told me to write it.

The store was quiet. It always tended to be. It wasn’t often that more than a few people a day would come in but that was all it needed. People knew that if they came in, they would be persuaded far more than they intended and so they came in with well-lined pockets and an enthusiasm for sweet talk and temptation.

Sansa was no such customer. She came in intending to buy a diamond pendant for her girlfriend and she left with just that. Twenty years of listening to the way they worked had hardened her ears against it. Her girlfriend was not so hard as that. _I can afford it,_ she would say and Sansa would laugh at her.

“Did you find it?” Margaery asked as she gave Sansa a quick peck on the lips and reached greedily for the small shopping bag.

“Of course,” said Sansa and gave over the bag, sitting down at the table.

They had spent so much time here. It was frequented almost as often as the Starbucks that Brienne had first taken her to four years ago. Attached to _Solitaire,_ the little tearoom sat right at the heart of luxury shopping in London. 

Margaery pulled out the tiny box and cracked it open carefully. She gasped at the jewel inside and smiled as wide as her face permitted. Sansa blushed a little at that, she couldn’t help but swoon at the sight of happiness of Margaery’s face.

“It’s so beautiful,” Margaery whispered, gazing at it in awe. 

For a short while, Sansa listened as Margaery gushed about the perfection of the pendant and how marvellously it would go with a dozen different outfits and how excited she was to see what it looked like on.   
  
Sansa lost herself in her surroundings. It was all so lavish and beautiful and she was used to that, she’d grown up with it, but sometimes she let herself consider it properly. The first time she’d realised what it all added up to, she’d lived in jeans for a week and decided she didn’t want to live this way anymore. Now, she simply lived in greater awareness of the excess and it scared her less than it used to.

“Can you imagine owning all that?” Sansa asked with an awesome gaze lingering on the _Solitaire_ bag. 

“Diamonds?” Margaery asked with a furrowed brow. “My love, we do.”  
  
“No, not just diamonds. The company behind the diamonds. Brienne’s going to have that one day. More money than most people could fathom in their entire lives and it’ll be right there in front of her. I’ll live comfortably my entire life, Dad’s rich but he’s not _rich_ like the Tarths. It frightens me sometimes: all that money.”

Margaery looked at her like she was mad. Maybe she was. Nobody else seemed so concerned with the money they had, only with keeping hold of it. Every morning they got up, and they spent what they liked, and they went to sleep at night like nothing had changed.

“She has a Lannister to help her keep on top of it,” Margaery pointed out, offering a gentle smile and covering Sansa’s hand with her own. “What’s so frightening about money, babe?”  
  
“It means so much, and really it’s nothing. People kill and fight and die over it and it’s just a number on a computer screen or a piece of paper in your purse. It’s just bizarre to think about,” Sansa said thoughtfully. “Never mind. Are you ready to go?”  
  
Margaery hummed her agreement and tucked the little box into her jacket pocket.  
  
They walked down Regent Street hand in hand, through the crowds of people with labels covering them head to toe. Sansa didn’t give the lot of them a moment’s notice. She was famished and Margaery had promised to make risotto when they got home.   
  
“Mum text me about Arya’s championships, I forgot to tell you. She wants us both there if we can fit it around exams. I said we’d both try but I’m not going without you. She’ll trample me with her horse if she gets half a chance.”  
  
“Or poke you with her blade,” Margaery teased. “I don’t think I’ll have time. Let me see how much I can get done this week and I’ll let you know by the weekend if I’m on top of things. Deadlines are ruining my life, I haven’t seen Loras or the girls in weeks.”  
  
Sansa rolled her eyes at that. It had been four days since Loras had last been at the apartment. The Tyrells were all inseparable, it was true, but Margaery had a dreadful tendency to exaggerate. 

“Poor baby,” she teased. “It’s hard being the clever one, isn’t it? Should’ve taken something easier but no, _my girlfriend_ had to take classics of all things.”

Margaery swung their interlocked hands between them freely and laughed. 

“Aw babe,” she smirked. “You think I’m the clever one.”   
  
Life was simple. They had each other and that was all Sansa had ever wanted. The rest of it was superfluous. All of it was very lovely junk that just got in the way of what mattered. She wondered if in another life she was a hippie, or something equally dreadful.

Among the normal people, she felt she stuck out like a sore thumb. She could never be anything less than a rich girl. It was bred into her all her life. _First world problems,_ she thought to herself with a laugh.


	19. Chapter 19

Selwyn had asked her to the National Gallery for the hundredth time. She’d obliged him, as she always did, and here they were, sat in front of a wall of Dutch impressionism and trying to ignore the fact that they were both sick of looking at Cezanne paintings.

She wondered why he still asked her to come. It had become _their_ place almost by accident and if it wouldn’t hurt his feelings, she might have tried to relocate.

It wasn’t the art, she loved that about it and so did he. It was the insincerity of it all. Tourists gathered around the most famous paintings to take photos on their mobile phones and rushing off to check back the pictures they had taken. _It’s right in front of you,_ she wanted to say to them. It was so detached here, more than she’d ever known a place to be. It was what she hated about the business too.   
  
None of them were there for the beauty of the jewels; they cared only for the money they represented, become so indifferent to the finery that it went over their heads now.

“How’s Jaime?” asked her father and Brienne rolled her eyes.

“Good, we’re getting along far better than we used to,” Brienne said. Asking after him was only a means to find out how things were going between them and she’d rather cut to the chase. “I think you were right, we are rather well suited.”

“Oh, darling,” he began with an almost audible smile on his face. “You know I worry about you. I won’t be around forever.” _Shut up,_ she thought. “The day is coming when you have to start caring for yourself.” _Stop talking._ “I don’t want you to face that day alone.” _Be quiet,_ she wanted to beg. “We’ve lost a lot, you and I.  But we always had each other. You _need_ somebody, and Jaime’s a good man.”   
  
It would break his heart. She’d known that from the beginning though. He thought of Jaime almost as a son, and she, his daughter. He would be gutted to hear of their separation, and she hated that she couldn’t tell him the truth but he was too loyal to the wrong people. Tywin would die, and she would _amicably_ break up with Jaime, and Selwyn would restart his quest to find her love. 

“You’re not going anywhere yet,” she assured him, glancing from him to a Manet piece that was hung in front of them. “You’ll outlive Tywin, you’re too stubborn to leave him with absolutely _nobody_ who likes him in the world.”   
  
Selwyn laughed at that.

“Gal always said I’d outlive _him,_ and he was right,” he said. “If he were here, I wouldn’t worry so much. You’ve a big heart, love, loneliness isn’t suited to sweet girls like you.”  
  
Tywin’s sickness had made him terrible sombre. He barely went a whole day without mentioning his inevitable death and it struck a nerve with Brienne. Her father was a soft man, too much for his own good a lot of the time, and though he had spent all his life trying to keep her safe, had learned to protect _him_ in her own way too. He was so scared of losing her, not that she blamed him. Three children and a wife gone, anyone in their right mind would be worried.

Every time she had come off her horse, she would neglect to tell him. After getting her license, she waited half a year before letting him know. Every time she moved, a glimmer of anxiety washed over his face before he hid it.

“I have friends,” she reminded him with warmth. “Even if Jaime turned out to be an absolute imbecile which we both know is rather likely, I have Sansa and Margaery to keep me in check. Cat will always keep an eye on me, too.”  
  
Selwyn stood up to leave. Brienne rose well above him now, even in flats. Once he had stood three inches over her, but age had shrunken him, and she stood at under six feet now. It scared Brienne to think of that, of her father being anything less than the man she had looked up to all her life.   
  
Even as a girl, she’d been so frightened of losing him. Galladon had always been there to reassure her, but Galladon was dead now and she would have to weather this storm alone.

“Shall we have lasagne for dinner?” Selwyn suggested as they walked through the gallery’s rooms and hunted lazily for the way out.

“I’ve got plans with Jaime, Dad. I’m sorry,” she offered with a wry smile. “I can reschedule with him if you like.” 

“Don’t be daft,” he chided. “You go! Have a good night and give him my best. You two could be really good for each other.”   
  
_If only you knew,_ Brienne thought. Her father might have called her clever if it were anyone else. But with his own godson, with the boy he’d half raised, all he would call her was cruel. She didn’t want to hear that, she never wanted him to know.   
  
They said their goodbyes and Brienne wondered if her father would be able to tell. Since the day she’d been born, her father had told her she couldn’t keep a secret from him if he handed it to her on a leash. He could read her like a book, most people could, and she was fine with that. Just not now, when she was lying to him, _properly lying,_ for the first time in her life.

Jaime was a conniving son of a bitch though, he would keep it up, no matter how she struggled. It would be fine, she told herself. If they believe Jaime would give me a second glance after all these years, they’ve lost their wits and being figured out is the last of our worries. The primary issue at hand was stopping herself slapping him every time he opened his mouth.

 _At least we’re going to see a film_ , she thought. _He’ll have to be quiet or I’ll be first in a long line of slaps._


	20. Chapter 20

He was on time. It was the first time in their lives that she’d known him be on time to anything. Here he was at 8:15 on the dot, exactly when they’d agreed to meet. He was in the wrong place, but nobody could hold that against him.

“It doesn’t start for half an hour, I allotted time for you to be late,” Brienne told him and he rolled his eyes at her. _Of course, she had._  
  
It was a weird cinema. Smaller than most and filled with the strangest sorts of people. Of course, a throwback showing of _Fight Club_ was likely to draw an odd crowd no matter where it was put on. An independent cinema in North London was sensical enough as venues went for such a night.

“Popcorn?” Jaime suggested and started towards the counter where a young, spotty teen was stood with a banal glaze over his eyes. “A large box of sweet, please.”  
  
 He watched Brienne’s eyes flare at that. Sweet popcorn was one of the few things in the world she truly gorged herself on. Years of going with her and Galladon had taught Jaime that she always went for salty to stop herself from leaving the cinema twice the size that she’d gone in. He hated salted popcorn and he wasn’t going to endure it for the sake of her gut.

“Cheers,” he offered as he paid and thrust it out in front of him at Brienne. “One night of gluttony won’t kill you, in fact, it might actually make you more bearable company.”  
  
“Thanks so much, babe.”  
  
That sarcastic tone had gone long unheard. He remembered her bickering with Gal in such a voice but that had been years ago. She was so serious now. There wasn’t room for fun in her tight schedule of being boring, and a part of him wished Gal was there to see it.

It was _his_ favourite film. He’d dragged Jaime and Brienne to the cinema half a dozen times to see it in the weeks after it came out, and he sat them down at least once a month once the VHS was out too. They were bloody sick of it. 

Brienne had text him a photo of the ad from her Instagram feed: ‘ _for old times’ sake? haha!’_ A week later, here they were readying themselves to watch a film they’d seen a thousand times and Jaime was wondering if he still remembered every word of the script.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Brienne was looking at him with a sad expression. “I forgot how morbid you are.”  
  
 Jaime rolled his eyes at that. It was hard to forget. Every time he looked in the mirror, he was reminded of what a miserable little shit he was.  
  
“Shut up,” he said. “You’re just as miserable as I am.”  
  
It was true. She did have a tendency to wallow, but she did it in the privacy of her own home and that gave her a free pass. In the company of others, she was happy as a lamb. 

She took a handful of the popcorn and thrust it towards him. Before the film had even started, they had finished the massive tub between them. _You were supposed to prevent this,_ Brienne argued and Jaime just laughed.  
  
It was only them in the cinema; just the two of them, three rows from the back with no popcorn to eat as they watched the film, reciting each word in the same way that had pissed off Galladon no end. 

Brienne turned to Jaime at one point and grabbed him by the chin, snarling the threat along with the film rather convincingly. _These guys are gonna take your balls._ His jaw tightened a split second before she let go, and then the two of them fell into hysterics. 

 _Thank God this place is empty,_ Brienne thought.

Jaime propped his feet up against the seat in front and slumped low. He watched the screen from between his knees and mouthed along every word until the credits came rolling. 

“Still good,” Brienne mused.  
  
“Bit boring,” Jaime answered, grunting at the expected thump to his shoulder. “Apologies. Still good.”

It was dark as they stepped outside, and if it wasn’t for the McDonalds being so close, Jaime might not have suggested McFlurries. It was practically next door, however, so Brienne found herself eating ice cream with a childish guilt as they headed for the tube station.

“Jesus,” Jaime exclaimed with a laugh. “You eat like an overeager toddler!”  
  
His gaze locked pointedly on her cupid’s bow and Brienne could feel colour rising in her cheeks as she went to wipe it clean. He rolled his eyes at her and swept over the skin easily with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it clean.

“You’re ridiculous,” Brienne retorted as she carefully drew another spoonful of icecream to her mouth only for it to drip onto her shirt. “Fuck.”  
  
“Do you need to be handfed, woman?” Jaime questioned with a boisterous laugh that filled the night air as they continued down the street.

She looked down at the mark and thanked God she hadn’t put an effort into looking nice. It was bound to stain.

They walked quietly to the station and Brienne wondered at the fact he hadn’t pissed her off tonight. Admittedly, there hadn’t been much opportunity and he still had a couple of minutes to prove himself, but it still felt like nothing short of a miracle.

Opposite directions again. They stopped at the bottom of the escalator to say goodnight.

“By the way, Myrcy has nationals on Monday and everyone’s going. It would be a good chance for the family to see us together, and you’ll have a good time, won’t you?” _No, I won’t_ , thought Brienne.

“Of course, send me the details and I’ll see if I can fit it around work.” _Please, God, give me something inavoidable to do on Monday. Anything._ “Best go, goodnight.”  
  
“Goodnight,” he answered softly, fighting the urge to furrow his brow.  
  
The whole journey home was consumed with wondering what had set Brienne fretting so. For once, he’d thought it was actually a half decent idea for a date but apparently, she disagreed. _As long as she doesn’t give away the game_ , he thought, _it matters naught to me._


	21. Chapter 21

It was the first time she’d seen him in years. There was little reason for a woman as successful as her to have _need_ of a lawyer. In fact, the divorce was probably the last time she’d said a word to him.

He had aged some, though it was hard to notice. He’d looked an old man since she’d first met him. He'd gained weight, she was certain, but his gut was almost becoming on his frame; if he were slim, he would look like a matchstick. Corporate law could do that to a man, she supposed. He was good enough at his job and that was all she needed him for. 

“Ms Lannister,” greeted Varys and she was pleased. People still elected to call her Baratheon occasionally and nothing repulsed her quite like it. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”  
  
“I’m sure,” she offered with a tight-lipped smile. “Shall we get to business? I’ve places to be, as I’m sure you have.”  
  
He was her father’s man. In his eyes, she would always be ambitious, little Cersei who thinks the company is hers to take. She would have to fix that if he was going to stay on. 

“Certainly, what is this about?” he asked. “I thought everything with _Solitaire_ was settled. Is it the property you’re concerned with? I know you and the boys have agreed to sell and split the revenue.”  
  
She grimaced at that. _The boys._ They were all still children in his mind. If he thought that, he was stupid.

“ _Solitaire_ is fine. The house is fine. This is about _Casterly._ ” His expression hardened and she wondered if he would go straight to her father. He didn’t seem a loyal man, she counted on his betrayal to get her what she wanted. “My father won’t accept the truth but that company ought to be mine. Jaime will run it into the ground. Anyone who’s worked with him will tell you that he has no brain for business.”  
  
She found herself watching the way his eyes flitted away from her, to his laptop, and back again.

“Ms Lannister-”  
  
“Cersei,” she interrupted softly. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Varys?”  
  
She wanted to laugh at the way he strained to smile at her sweetly. _He’s scared of me,_ she thought.

“Your brother is set to inherit the company. The deeds are scheduled to be signed. It’s-” he hesitated. “There’s nothing I can do to change that.”  
  
It was true enough. While her father lived, there was no way to get her hands on the company. He would never let her have it. Too stubborn for his own good, that was Tywin Lannister to a tee. 

“I mean only to construct a plan for the future, Varys,” she explained. “Once my brother has inherited, it will take him only a few weeks to do something that upsets the board. When he does, I need to be ready to take over the company, I need the paperwork prepared for me to overrule him and take the company into my possession. All I ask, is your help in my preparation.”

There was doubt in his eyes. His brow was furrowed tightly, and he looked almost frightened. It sounded mad, she knew that, but madness didn’t make it any less inevitable.  
  
“We are not staging a coup,” she said, “just preparing to take advantage of one.”  
  
Inside a year, the company would be hers. The board preferred her anyway. They would press her claim to CEO without much encouragement, and she would watch as they won that particular battle for her. _Casterly_ would be hers, as it always should have been, and Jaime could go back to living his pitiful little life.


	22. Chapter 22

Catelyn was concerned. When Sansa had told her that Brienne was dating Jaime Lannister, the first thing she did was call her.   
  
Two days later, Brienne was coming in for a haircut at the salon and Catelyn was ready to interrogate her.   
  
“Cat!” Brienne greeted, wrapping the smaller woman in a tight hug. “I have missed you.”   
  
“I missed you too, darling,” cooed Catelyn, bringing Brienne’s face between her palms and holding it there as though she were inspecting it.   
  
For all of five minutes, Cat kept up the pretence of small talk before giving into temptation.

“What is this nonsense about you dating Jaime Lannister?” she demanded and did not care for the way Brienne blushed at the mention of his name. _What has she gotten herself into?_  
  
“He’s…nice,” Brienne struggled to find the words she wanted, settling for simpler ones.

Washing hair was an intimate thing for them. Catelyn had washed her hair when she was still a girl, she was the only one who’d _ever_ washed her hair. They’d had long, winding conversations in the bathtub when she was young, and later, in this very chair. It put Brienne at ill ease to be so exposed while discussing _him._

“He’s never been _nice_ before. The countless times I held you, sobbing, because of him. Too afraid to go to your father for fear he’d take your brother’s best friend away from him, always too worried about everybody else to think of yourself. He broke your heart in a long-winded sort of way, why would you trust him with it now?”

Brienne found herself a little angry with Cat for being right. She hadn’t thought of those times in years, not properly. He was different now, she told herself, and wondered how she’d grown to tolerate his company with such ease. She found herself wanting to defend him and she wondered at that too.   
  
“He’s changed. He’s…losing Galladon, it made him grow up. He did those things when he was just a boy, he never saw the harm. Life was a game to him, I was a toy.”  
  
“You’d really trust him now? After all he did?”   
  
“I was only a girl, Cat. I think the way I saw things back then was blurred, with all of the anger and the heartbreak and the _hormones._ I was no angel myself,” Brienne reasoned, sitting up as Catelyn wrapped a towel around her shoulders and the two crossed to Cat’s booth. 

It wasn’t a haircut, per se. For years, an appointment had been more of an opportunity to check in than anything else. Brienne’s hair was past her shoulders now and she realised just how long it had been. The two had been close when she was growing up; Cat was the closest thing she had to a mother figure.

“My little kitten,” Cat cooed as she ran her fingers through Brienne’s hair. “You were just as good then as you are now. You’d lash out, but nobody ever saw your claws. He’s a beast, and he hurt you, and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him after the way he’s behaved.”  
  
Brienne looked at her in the mirror and swallowed thickly, wanting desperately to tell her the truth if only to steal that tearful worry from her face. They sat in a pressed quiet as Catelyn blow-dried her hair, and Brienne found she couldn’t ease her mind.

 _He doesn’t have any control over me,_ she told herself. Except somehow, he did, though he didn’t realise it. She had laughed all night with him at the cinema, and she had gone home with a smile. She didn’t hate him anymore and that terrified her. 

“Will you at least be careful?” Cat asked out of nowhere, switching off the hairdryer so she could be heard and looking pointedly at Brienne. “For my sake, if not yours.”  
  
“Careful how?”

“With your heart,” and Brienne tightened her jaw at the implication. “Don’t give it up too easily. You have a tendency to let your heart run wild, keep a tighter hold of the reins, kit’.”

She filled the silence that followed with the sound of the hairdryer and, once she was done with that, with small talk about their lives, and of the children, and of how she hated the house being so empty. _Sansa is right,_ Brienne thought. _She’s getting broody._  
  
It was a scary thing, to imagine another Stark baby. There were already five of them and Brienne struggled to keep track of all their lives. The boys were all off, living their lives, and she only ever saw them at Christmas. Sansa and Arya were the only two that she really kept tabs on. They’d looked to her as a big sister all their lives and she adored them, more than the boys though she would never admit it. 

“Are you going to watch Arya on Monday?” asked Brienne, remembering that she was supposed to go with Jaime.

“Of course, Ned and I will be there, and I’ve asked Sansa and Margaery but they think they’ll be too busy with work to make it. We’d love to see you there, if it’s not too much.” Catelyn already knew what had Brienne so het up about going. Of course, she did, Catelyn knew her girls better than anyone in the world.   
  
“Actually I’m- well Jaime’s asked me to go with him. They’re all going to support Myrcella and it’s an opportunity for me to see Tywin and Cersei and Tyrion, we- well I haven’t really spoken to them in years and it makes sense,” Brienne forced out awkwardly, eyes cast upon her hands which wrung themselves hopelessly in her lap. “ _If_ I can’t find an excuse, which I’m still hoping to.”   
  
 Watching sport was like putting a glass of scotch in front of Tyrion Lannister and telling him he wasn’t allowed to drink it. It was a painful reminder of the life she might’ve had if her brother hadn’t died and her father wasn’t rich and she wasn’t so bloody honourable. If it wasn’t for fucking _Solitaire,_ she might have a gold medal.   
  
“Well, Arya will be pleased to see you. She’s been training a lot, she wants to impress you,” Cat offered sweetly.

Brienne smiled at the thought. It hurt to be reminded that she’d never have that back, but Arya showed such promise.  
  
“I’ll see you Monday then,” Brienne uttered, forcing herself to agree if only for the sake of Arya. She was going to have to get over it at some point; better at Nationals than going to the Games themselves and wallowing in self-pity the entire time.

At least Jaime would be there, she found herself thinking.


	23. Chapter 23

Selwyn was eager to hear what Tywin thought. He was curious. _Had Jaime mentioned Brienne?_  It was undoubtedly for their cause that they were meeting.

His business partner was a harsh man. There was no affection between them, not beyond the cordiality that Tywin used to keep Selwyn happy. Selwyn didn’t care for cordiality.

Tywin was clever. He’d known that for as long as the two had worked together. He was nothing short of genius. There was only _one_ thing that mattered in his world, and it wasn’t even himself, it was the Lannister legacy. Selwyn had learned quickly that the more tightly he bound their fates, the more he could rely on Tywin to do what was best for _both_ of them.   
  
There was no affection between them, Selwyn thought, but there could be between their children.

“Selwyn,” Tywin greeted, thrusting a mug of earl grey into his hands. “How are things? How’s Brienne?”  
  
“Things are good. Brienne’s well. She and Jaime went out on Tuesday. It seems they had a nice time,” Selwyn answered. There was no point dancing around it. _Cut to the chase,_ he told himself. “She seems happy about it. What of him?”  
  
“Oh Lord knows what _he’s_ thinking. I couldn’t read that boy if he thought to come and see me at something short of an order, let alone with the little I _do_ know of him. I trust her judgment more than his on this,” Tywin said. “If she’s happy, things must be going well. We ought to keep an eye on them, make sure things are progressing smoothly.”  
  
Selwyn was in a bizarre kind of awe at him. To play with his own children as if they were chess pieces, with no concern whatsoever for what they wanted, was remarkably heartless. Of course, that was Tywin through and through: _remarkably heartless._  
  
 _Leave them be,_ he wanted to say. If such a couple could be forged cleanly, he would be pleased, but he would not marry off his daughter like some tyrant. She was perfectly equipped to survive alone. He worried for her happiness, not her welfare.

“Are you coming to the championship on Monday?” asked Tywin, tearing Selwyn from his thoughts.   
  
“The-” he hesitated, unsure if he’d forgotten something he ought to know. 

“The national pentathlon championships. Myrcella is competing, so we’re all going. Apparently, your Brienne will be coming with us, though the youngest Stark girl is on the bill so she might get stolen away. If you were to come, it would be…” he took a moment to consider his words. “an extra pair of eyes on them, to measure the way she is with him and vice versa.”

 _Brienne was going to spectate?_ Selwyn found himself confused. His daughter didn’t watch sports, for ten years, she’d pretended they didn’t exist at all. She’d refused to go near an arena and she wouldn’t even _think_ about getting on a horse. He’d surprised her for her birthday three years ago with an afternoon ride through the woods with Sansa and Arya and Cat but she’d said she felt light-headed and waited in the car for over an hour. 

“I can’t. I have meetings all day, some of which I can’t reschedule,” he said, relieved to have a reason not to go. “Give them some space, I say. They won’t act normally with _either_ of us, but you might catch a glimpse if they aren’t paying attention to you. I know my daughter better than anyone, Ty’, she’s not going to give anything away easily.”  
  
 Tywin frowned at him in disapproval. Giving one’s children space was not in Tywin’s remit. He micro-managed their every move until they started avoiding him entirely, and even now, he made sure they didn’t make any decisions _too_ damaging.

Selwyn wondered why Brienne was going. It made little sense. _She must really like him,_ he realised, _to put herself through that simply because he asked._  
  
“If she seems unhappy,” Tywin began. “Do tell me, Sel, and I’ll speak to my son. Sometimes he needs to reminded how to behave, but I’ll ensure he doesn’t hurt her. You know I’d see no harm come to her, no less at the hands of my own son. Sometimes I wonder how I ever made such a son out of my flesh and blood and raised him up to be _that_.”

 _You didn’t raise him at all_ , Selwyn thought. _Thank God._


	24. Chapter 24

It was Sunday evening when Sandy text her and suggested a pint. She went in hopes that she would get so blackout drunk, she slept right through the championship.

She was three pints in when he tentatively raised the topic of Jaime, or as Sandy has affectionately termed him ‘lover boy’.    
  
“How are _things?_ ” he asked suggestively, and she felt colour rise in her cheeks. Telling him would do no harm, he’d never tell a soul, he didn’t _know_ anybody that would care. A part of her wanted to, and yet she felt it would be unfair to Jaime, to bitch about him like that.

“They’re alright,” Brienne offered awkwardly.   
  
Explaining the situation to Sandy had been hard enough. He had been baffled by the fact that her father would try to set her up with _anybody,_ and with the hints she’d made at their past, it only confused him more. The idea of pretending to date would likely go right over his head if she _tried_ to explain it to him. 

“ _Alright_ isn’t a word I associate with dating,” he pointed out, sipping his lager. “What’s really going on? I still don’t understand the pair of you.”

“There’s a lot of history, it’s-” she stopped herself, wondering whether the alcohol had loosened her tongue. “Fuck it, I may as well tell you it all.”   
  
She took a gulp of her drink and waited for it to settle in her stomach. This was dangerous territory. Brienne hadn’t let herself think about half of this stuff in years, and now she was going to dive into it headfirst. It felt like a suicide mission.

“It goes back to when we were kids, I guess. Cersei was always the pretty one, and I was always the annoying one who followed the boys around and tried to join in. I broke my wrist once, chasing them through the forest, and Dad banned me from playing with them anymore. I should play with Cersei instead, he told me,” her words were quivering already.

Sandy had his eyes fixed on her and she felt crushed beneath his hardened gaze.

“I barely saw them after that. They were off at school and when they came back, I did my best to stay out of their way, but when the boys got to about sixteen, they started having parties. Tywin had an outhouse where the boys used to invite all their friends round and eventually, Cersei and I persuaded them to let us come too.”

Brienne wondered what life would’ve been like if they’d never insisted on going. If they’d done as they were told and let the boys do what they wanted and just been happy with their own lives. _Maybe he and I could’ve been friends._  
  
“There was this one friend of theirs, I just knew him as Hunter back then but now…well he owns Yubileyny now. He was nicer than the other guys, he complimented me and brought enough alcohol to share and always sat next to me. I quite fancied him, nothing special looking back but at the time I thought he was the love of my life.” Thought was an understatement; she believed it with every ounce of her being. Catelyn had listened to her talk for hours about this mysterious boy, four years older, handsome and sweet, and Brienne had known that she would spend the rest of her life with him if he asked.

Her breath hitched as she tried to find the words to continue. It still stung to think of. Jaime was a kinder man now, but he’d still done it.

 “One night, it was pretty dead, there were only about eight of us there, and he took me off to the side and he kissed me. He kept making me drinks and I was a bit of a lightweight back then, but he just wanted to make sure I was having a good time. Jaime muscled in, I still don’t know why, it’s been so long I barely remember it but…well Hunter never spoke to me again. Jaime made some excuse; “she’s wasted, look at her” he said, and Hunter started acting like we’d never even met. I stopped going to the parties after that, I stopped spending time with them at all. He’d seen that I was happy, and he’d snatched it away from me because he didn’t want his friends wasting their time on me.”

It sounded childish now, she realised. One night cut short, no matter how sharply, couldn’t change all that. If Hunter had _really_ liked her, it wouldn’t have put him off. She’d always suspected there was more to It though, she’d noticed the way that Hunter looked around almost anxiously for a friend every time she approached him, and she _knew_ it was more than just a drunken night’s embarrassment. 

Sandy was looking at her with a fury in his eyes and it confused her. Any grown adult could see how silly it was, how blown up, but he looked like he was ready to punch the next fucker who came near him. 

“He was _Jaime’s_ friend?” His tone was steely.

“He was in the year above him at Eton. He only came for the alcohol, I think. They weren’t _friends,_ they just knew each other. Hunter was more my brother’s friend if anything.”   
  
“The year above Jaime? So, four years older than you, what, seventeen? And you were maybe, fourteen, just?” The frustration in his voice was almost raspy, like he was trying to hold it down and losing.

 _Why does he care about Hunter?_ The man was rich and married and fat now. He didn’t matter to anyone anymore.

“Sandy, what are you-” Brienne paused as she realised what he was saying. He was implying that Hunter was…that he would have- _NO!_ Cersei had put the thought in her mind before. _Boys only want one thing,_ she’d said and Brienne had struggled to understand in her naivete. “We were kids! Jaime didn’t want to share his friends and so he took Hunter from me, _that’s_ why I hated him all these years…that and a million other little things.”

She’d never thought of it before. In all the years since, she’d never looked back and realised how it might have looked. It had been a silly crush, entirely unrequited, and she’d been fine with that. Hunter was kind and sweet but he’d never _fancied_ her.

“I think I’m gonna get home,” Sandy announced, draining the dregs of his glass and standing to leave. _Fuck,_ she thought. _He’s furious, and the beer isn’t helping. He’s gonna hurt himself._ “Text me when you get home.”  
  
 She followed him to his door, always twenty strides behind, hiding in the dark spots and hoping he wouldn’t hear her. _Go to bed,_ she pleaded silently to him, distracted by the thought of her own apartment.


	25. Chapter 25

At 8o’clock, she woke with her alarm and reluctantly got ready. She had never been _less_ enthused to go anywhere, and her head was pounding. At every opportunity, she tried to be late; she missed her train but another one came five minutes later, she planned to get lost, but Jaime had waited for her at the train station, she let her phone die but Jaime had a power bank.

“You alright?” Jaime asked her. Across the stadium, they spotted Tywin, tall and proud of stature, and made for him through the bustling spectators.

“I went for a few drinks last night,” she admitted. “Just feeling a bit raw.”   
  
Jaime laughed at her a little. He came to an abrupt stop and grabbed her by the arms, so she was facing him. His fingers ran messily through her hair first, then straightened her jumper, then tapped her cheeks with his palms in the gentlest of smacks. “You have sleep in your eyes,” he said, “look alive, my father will be terribly disappointed if you aren’t in top form.”   
  
She rolled her eyes at him and swept ring fingers over the corner of her eyes quickly. _Top form,_ she thought, _as if Tywin Lannister has ever seen me in top form._  
  
“Brienne!” Tywin greeted with open arms, drawing her into a tense embrace that lasted less than a second before he pulled back with a painfully forced smile. “Glad to see you here! I asked your Dad but he’s wading through a day of meetings, he says.”  
  
“He’s a busy man,” Brienne replied with a fond smile.   
  
Tywin forced himself to make small talk with her for all of five minutes before excusing himself and leaving her to Jaime’s mercy.

It felt bizarre to be here. She was a different person now and to be back here, with all of that behind her, felt so jarring. Part of her was fighting the urge to run and get changed and start her warm up. 

“I’m putting my hand around your waist, don’t punch me,” Jaime announced quietly as he reached his arm around to settle on her hip. “Dad’s getting very suspicious about you.”   
  
She forced herself to relax against him. His hand was warm, even through the thin knit of her jumper, and in the brisk morning air, it was a welcome presence. His thumb moved back and forth across the curve of her hip and she found herself surprised when it didn’t annoy her.

“What time does it all kick off?” she questioned, eyes locked on the far end of the field where she remembered competing half a hundred times.   
  
“Soon, Myrcy text her mum and said they were just getting ready, they’re starting with the jumps and then we have to go inside.”

Jaime could tell she was at ill ease. He’d been tentative with her since they left the train station and he was going to keep her from Tywin’s harsh interrogation as best he could. She was fragile about this, he couldn’t understand why entirely, but then he couldn’t understand a _lot_ about Brienne.

“I guess swimming is tomorrow?” Her tone was disinterested. _She doesn’t want to be here._ He could make an excuse to leave early, say they had plans in the city. It would make Tywin angry and it would confirm for him that the two were becoming utterly inseparable. 

“Yeah, I was thinking we could get out of here after the fencing though,” he suggested to her, following her gaze across the field to the competitors, just starting to walk out. “Tyrion can text me the results of the shoot-and-run. If we stay, we’ll get dragged to dinner at Cersei’s afterwards.”  
  
Brienne faced him, furrowing her brow in gentle confusion. 

“I thought you wanted to show me off,” she said. Her pout was sarcastic, and he could tell she was trying to distract him. No matter how much they despised each other, they were still on the same side in most things. “We’ll go after they break for lunch then?”   
  
Jaime nodded, turning his attention to the pitch and feeling his family’s presence, returned to his side as the first girl mounted her horse.

All through the event, Jaime let his gaze return to Brienne, watching the way she swallowed thickly when a horse clipped a fence and the way her eyes smiled sadly when a girl performed well. Only when Myrcella was on the field did he keep focus.

She rode well, he thought. It was hard to know for certain. All of them seemed to be doing a pretty good job, but she cleared all fifteen jumps cleanly. Cersei would be pleased, he knew.

It was only when Arya Stark took the field that he saw a glimmer of something brighter on Brienne’s face. _Pride,_ he suspected. She’d been a friend to the Stark girls as long as they’d been alive, and he wondered if she’d ever ridden with the young girl. _Perhaps when she was very little._  
  
The fencing was a tedious affair. Jaime _hated_ watching sport. A few of the girls were rather disappointing in their performance which sped things along, but it still dragged on terribly. When Arya Stark made for the mat, cheers broke out from across the room and Brienne looked up to meet Catelyn’s gaze, clapping wildly for the girl. 

Jaime glanced Cersei and watched the way she glared at Brienne as though she might strike her down. That was going to be fun to deal with.

“Finally,” Jaime grumbled once the last epee finished and the spectators started to disperse. Myrcella bounded straight towards her mother with a proud grin and her mask in her hand and gave Cersei a tight hug. “Well done, Myrcy.”   
  
She drew back and offered a glancing smile to him, staring proudly at her mother in hopes of a compliment. “When will the leader board be up?”

“Before the shoot-and-run begins, for sure. I’m definitely up top though, I won the epee hands down, even if I didn’t place that high in the eventing! That Sand bitch is my only competition anyway.” 

“And Arya,” her Mum reminded her with a frighteningly gentle tone. “You did well, darling, but you haven’t won yet.”   
  
Cersei turned her attention to her father, striking up a conversation with him and leaving Myrcella stood there, abashed.

“That was a clever move you pulled on the Manderly girl,” Brienne offered tentatively. “You fence well.”

“Thanks,” Myrcella offered begrudgingly, sneering at Brienne before rushing off to rejoin her friends. Jaime wanted to smack her for being so insolent; Brienne was kind enough to _be here_ and she had the nerve to be impolite.

“We should get going, babe,” he announced, loudly enough that his family would hear. “Just popping to the loo first. Wait here.”

Jaime bustled off to find the gents’ and left her in the lions’ den with no weapons but for her wit. _Piss quickly,_ she pleaded.


	26. Chapter 26

“I’ll ruin you.” Brienne’s head snapped around at the statement and she found Cersei glaring at her very seriously. “I don’t know what you are hoping to gain, but I will ruin your life before I let you hurt him.”

“Cersei, I-” she began before stopping herself. Green eyes bore into her and she was stunned.

“Brienne, we’ve known each other all our lives. I _know_ you. I know you hate my brother and I know you want something from him. You’re not getting it. My brother is feeble and his heart is soft and I have spent my entire life protecting him; don’t think I’ll stop just because we were friends once.”   
  
It was hard to believe this was the sweet girl she had grown up with. That girl had dressed up impress the boys she liked and laughed at ridiculous jokes and spoken of the life she would have when she grew up. Cersei had grown up into something entirely unrecognisable.

Brienne was sad for her. She’d always been destined for such great things.

 “Is it the company you want? I didn’t’ think you were so ambitious. Maybe just a loveless marriage to hide the fact that you’ll never really _love_ a man. I’m surprised you can even _pretend_ to like him after what happened with Hunter,” she went on. Brienne’s jaw tightened at that and Cersei scoffed at her. “Hit a nerve, have I?”  
  
 _Jaime, where the fuck are you?_ Brienne begged. She didn’t want to argue with Cersei, it was the _last_ thing she wanted. She wanted to _go._ Cersei would tear her limb from limb if she didn’t get away.

“Cersei, I don’t know what you _think_ is happening here but…your father wanted Jaime and I to give things a chance. I didn’t _pursue_ your brother. I don’t want anything _from_ him.” Brienne was fighting against the lump in her throat, she wouldn’t appear weak in front of Cersei, not now. “I don’t know what’s made you so afraid of the whole world but you definitely don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Her eyes returned to the door, across the room, and she let out an audible sigh of relief when Jaime walked back in and paced across to her.

“I’m not afraid of you, Brienne. I pity you,” Cersei snarled in her ear before plastering on a false smile for her brother. “Have a nice afternoon, love birds!”  
  
“Ready to go?” Jaime asked, smiling weakly, failing to hide his concern as he noticed the tension in Brienne’s expression. “I’ll see you soon, Cersei. Bye, father. Later, little brother.” 

There was chatter awash the entire room and Jaime hoped they could slip away unnoticed but no such luck.

“Rushing off so soon, Jaime?” asked Tywin with a taut smile.

“Brienne and I already had plans, we thought we’d show our faces for Myrcy but we really have to be going,” he conceded dryly. “I’m sure we’ll all see each other soon.”

Abrupt goodbyes were made between them before Jaime grabbed her hand in his and pulled her towards the door at a brisk pace. Once they were out, he spun around to face her and looked at her interrogatively. “What the fuck happened?”  
  
“Cersei was being Cersei, it’s nothing.” 

“Stop being a pushover!” he said, emboldened suddenly by the way she shrunk away. “She’s been trampling over everybody her entire life and it’s because people let her think she can. Nobody has _ever_ told her no... apart from my father but she’s never cared a damn what he said. You’re going to be working with that woman for the rest of your life, learn to stand up to her, for God’s sake!”

Brienne was taken aback. She felt colour rise in her cheeks and she wanted to punch him. Cersei was not _her_ fault, she wasn’t the first to let her have what she wanted and she wouldn’t be the last. Cersei ruled over everybody she met and that included her brazen twin brother. “Why don’t you?”  
  
There was space between them now. He’d been holding her hand before but now he wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were brimming with a displaced shame. _She’s fucking right,_ he thought. She hated that. What was it with Tarths and reminding him what a dick he was?

“We should go,” he grumbled. “Yell at me all you like but Dad might come out to smoke and I don’t fancy dealing with _that._ ”

The walk to the train station carried an uncomfortable silence between them. _This is what she does,_ Jaime thought. He knew his sister was a genius in the way she isolated people. Her children didn’t have close friends. Half the reason she’d left her husband was because he was too hard to control. He makes everybody think she’s the only one in the world looking out for them.

“I’m going up to Donington on Wednesday,” he began, sullen in his words. “I was going to ask if you’d come with me. It’ll look good and it’s a free break to the countryside. I’ll pay for everything, it can just be an excuse to get out of London for a few days.”

Brienne looked at him and he met her eyes with a furrowed brow. “For how long?”

“I was thinking until Sunday? I’ve got meetings all next week so it’d be nice to have a bit of a break first.”   
  
For a moment, she just watched him as she walked and tried hopelessly to read her expression. She was an impenetrable fortress of a woman and he’d watched curiously as half a dozen men tried and failed to get behind them. “Okay.”  
  
Their silence eased on the train, though the frustration lingered long after they had parted ways. He was furious with her for being right and she was furious with him for suggesting that Cersei could be so easily handled. They had two days to forgive one another before what might be the longest five days of their lives.


	27. Chapter 27

Tyrion grinned proudly as Myrcella rose to the podium, and as she ran over to hug her mother. Cersei was visibly tense in her arms though her smile was real enough. _It’ll never be enough for her,_ Tyrion remembered. _She won’t be proud until her children are the best in the world, and even then, she’ll doubt them._

“I won, Uncle Tyrion!” she exclaimed as she drew back from her mother and turned her attention to him. Myrcella was beaming and he wondered how such a sweet soul was borne of his loathsome sister. “I beat Arya and Nymeria and all of them! They’d have to swim like fish in the morning to take the lead now!”  
  
“Indeed you did! A true champion!” he answered with a voracious grin. “Myrcella Baratheon, the finest pentathlete in Great Britain!” 

The girl skipped gleefully to her grandfather in search of further praise, and he was left with Cersei. She watched her daughter go and when she was out of ear shot, she turned to her little brother with a burning gaze.

“She’s a Lannister,” she reminded him with a snarl. All of the children had taken their mother’s maiden name after the divorce, before it had been double-barrelled, but they had been young enough that she didn’t consult them in the matter. “She is _my_ daughter and I will not let her steal away her success to bear as his own.”   
  
Tyrion wanted to laugh at her. _Just as you intend to do,_ he thought. All three of her children had been exceptional in her own right, though Myrcella was her pride and joy. Tommen was too soft, and Joffrey not soft enough, but Myrcy would take the world by storm and her mother was entirely certain of the fact.

“I’ve never understood why it frightened you so, the thought of losing them. They aren’t going anywhere,” he assured her quite confidently. 

“Of course, you don’t understand. You’ve a dozen bastards out there in the world I’d wager and you don’t give any of them a single thought. Children _become_ your life. I have lost _one,_ Tyrion. I will not lose another,” she declared, and it was terrifying to hear her speak with such determination. 

Tywin had noticed the raised voices and gave Tyrion a stern glance before returning his attentions to Myrcella and keeping her occupied with the offer of a glass of wine at dinner tonight in celebration. 

“People have spent our entire lives trying to take what is ours and I am holding on tightly to what is mine,” she continued and suddenly she wasn’t talking about her children anymore. “While away your life as freely as you wish, but don’t expect me to do the same.”  
  
 _Solitaire_? Tyrion thought. _Nobody will take that from you, sister, nobody wants it._ He pondered for a moment before realising it was _Casterly_ that she wanted, that she had always wanted. It would be Jaime’s, but Jaime had always been hers, a puppet in all things business, unless he set her aside.

“I see,” he drawled, revelling in the way her gaze hardened. “That’s what has you so worried. Darling Brienne has you fretting, doesn’t she!”  
  
“I am not worried about her. She is a problem, and soon she will be gotten rid of. You won’t intervene, will you? I would hate to drag you into matters that don’t concern you.”   
  
“Don’t bother, Cersei. Let him have a few weeks of happiness. She’ll realise she’s too good for him soon enough and then you’ll get to watch his heart break. Won’t that be fun for you?” It was like bargaining with a child. _Leave that for now, and you can have something better later.  
  
_ _Don’t waste your energy, sister._ Tyrion hadn’t thought of the implications Jaime’s _arrangement_ with Brienne might have. It was designed almost entirely to fool Tywin into handing over the company, but the rest of the world was sure to find out too.

 “Don’t deign to advise me, Tyrion. I don’t take heed of the words of drunken little lechers, even when they appear sober.”

Dinner was going to be dreadful, he knew. He should have followed Jaime’s lead and left with the pair of them, escaping the inevitable socialising that was doomed to follow. He’d already sat here all day.  He’d ignored Cersei’s japes and he’d paid close attention to Myrcella and he’d prayed to God his father didn’t try to speak to him.

It seemed remarkable that a teenage girl could ever be the best company in the room and yet, when it came to family gatherings, the children were often his only allies. __  
  



	28. Chapter 28

Tuesday was a pyjama day. She was tired and her head ached and nothing made her feel worse than the mere prospect of the gym. Sandy joked, calling her weak, and she hated the way her brain rattled in her head as she laughed.

If she could have gotten away with it, she would’ve wallowed there all day and not moved further than the bathroom. Of course, no such wallowing was permitted when one had friends to keep them company. _For pity’s sake,_ she thought, when she received the text: _on my way now,_ it read.

Sansa had insisted on coming to help her pack. It was a trip to Midlands and she didn’t see why she needed to pack much of anything, but it was more trouble than it was worth to tell Sansa no.

Instead, she flopped back on the bed and let Sansa do what she liked. _I’ll redo it once she’s left,_ she told herself though she knew she was too lazy to bother.

“Four nights away, you’re going to be _crawling_ back,” Sansa teased, feigning scandal as she threw Brienne’s sexiest underwear into the suitcase. “I’d never leave the room, and I don’t even like men.” Brienne scoffed at her. “He’s not a man, Brienne. You’re dating a god, a sex god.”   
  
Brienne burst out laughing. Sansa was repulsed by most men. She made a point of reminding Brienne just how divine women were every time a man dared to look at her. Of course, Jaime Lannister, with his golden hair and his emerald eyes, would turn her head. 

“I’ll find a way to restrain myself,” Brienne assured her sarcastically.

It was only five days and yet Sansa had somehow convinced her she needed to take a suitcase that would normally fit enough clothes for a month. She couldn’t justify it. Sansa would go home, and Brienne would sort out all of her packing herself.

They turned on the television and watched old Friends episodes while Sansa folded everything carefully. It was getting late already and the sun had set. Through the window, moonlight spilled onto the linoleum and cast a shimmering puddle on the floor.

 Brienne was tired. She’d barely slept last night. Cersei’s threats had left her uneasy from dusk til dawn but apparently exhaustion was of a stronger persuasion than worry. She was ready to curl up in her duvet and dream the night away.

“I need to get up early,” Brienne reminded her friend, a gentle indication she should go.

“Sleep then, I’ll lock the door behind me. I need to finish packing. I won’t be much longer,” Sansa reassured and Brienne knew she would give into temptation. She’d wake up early and sort out her suitcase, it’d be fine. “Do you love him?”   
  
If she wasn’t already half-asleep, Brienne would’ve yelled in dismay. Instead, she just gave a tired laugh and curled up under the quilt to fall asleep. Behind her eyelids, she listened to Ross and Joey as she fell easily to sleep.

“Brienne,” Sansa offered up gently to the quiet, grinning sweetly as she zipped up the suitcase and quietly made for the remote. Silence veiled the room and darkness followed with the flick of a switch. “Have a good time.”

Sansa thought of her closest friend and wondered if Jaime was _it._ Could someone quite so brash as that make Brienne feel the way that Margaery made her? His smile was charming at best and sleazy at worst. How could someone so sweet have fallen for _that?_

He seemed kind. All she had heard from Brienne was good things, and she would give him the chance to prove himself before she passed judgment.

 _Don’t hurt her,_ she thought. _I could have you killed._  
  



	29. Chapter 29

 Brienne woke to banging on her front door. _Who the fuck is that?_ She asked herself, rolling out of bed and rushing to answer it. 

“What the-” she started as she yanked open the door, wrapping her spare arm around her midriff protectively. “Jaime?”   
  
“It’s 9, you said you’d ring me at 8 and you didn’t, so I came to find out what you were doing,” he explained, sliding past her into the apartment. “Nice bedhead,” he teased, and Brienne rolled her eyes at him, combing her fingers through her hair. “Nice shorts, too.”

She commanded him to make coffee while she got dressed. _No time to repack_ , she realised. There wasn’t anything _that_ terrible in her wardrobe, and it was only five days. She’d have to manage. 

Fifteen minutes later, she was sipping coffee as she brushed her wet hair out and let the caffeine liven her up a little.

“We should get going, we lost an hour already and traffic’s going to be hideous,” Jaime offered, draining the last of his tea before slapped his thighs and stood up. “You can nap in the car.”

Jaime bawked at the size of her suitcase but took it from her and shoved it carelessly into his car boot. Brienne watched him struggle through the rear-view mirror but decided against trying to help. He gave a determined grunt and the case slipped into place, though he was uncertain if he’d ever be able to get it out.  

“Thanks for all the help,” Jaime snarked as he flopped into the driver’s seat and watched her clap slowly. “Belted up?”

“Let’s go,” she answered, patting the seatbelt where it pressed against her jumper.

For the first hour, they drove in a near quiet, only the whispering presence of BBC Radio 1 at its lowest volume to keep them awake. Brienne almost drifted off twice but she caught herself both times.

“Why did you ask me to come?” Brienne asked, seemingly out of the blue though she’d been conjuring the words for half an hour in her own head. 

“You hate that city just as much as I do, I know you do,” he offered, and the truth surprised her. “We both deserve a break from all that bollocks.”   
  
_I don’t hate it all the time,_ Brienne thought. London was the land of opportunity, it was where people took their big dreams to flourish, but it could feel like you were drowning if you didn’t have a dream to keep you afloat.

“Why Donington? I guess you’re planning to drive but-” she waited for him to speak, noticed the way he dropped his eyes to chase the road markings.

“It’s the first track I ever raced on,” he told her. “I don’t understand how you gave up riding so quickly, I- giving up driving would kill me. It already hurts enough to not race but, never having the feeling of an engine under my control again? I’d spend every day longing for it.”  
  
 She blushed at that. He didn’t have the first idea what riding meant to her. Perhaps driving was to him a fraction of what riding was to her but it was impossible to compare. Riding had been her life. She’d got on her first pony when she was five and it felt like she’d never gotten off until she stopped.

When Galladon died, she’d lost herself in it. She’s spent every waking moment on horseback and she’d been stronger than ever before. Her heart was broken but she held herself together and she won every comp for ten weeks. Then Selwyn fell ill and she rushed to the city to be at his side.

The grief had tired him, the doctors told her, and they warned her that he seemed to have no will to live. She’d sat at his side and she’d promised life would be amazing if he just fought for it. She’d agreed to take the company from him there and then, hadn’t thought twice about it, and a week later, he was bright as a button again. Selwyn never held her to her promise, but she had kept it all the same.

“If I let myself remember that feeling for even a moment, I’d never be able to give it up,” she admitted, reaching towards the radio and turning up the volume. She wouldn’t wallow.

By the time they left the M1, they’d played i-spy until Brienne got sick of his ridiculous selections and they’d sung along to every Taylor Swift song until Jaime got bored of that and turned the radio off. 

Miraculously, he’d yet to crash the car. They’d been comfortably driving at five over the limit since they left London and Brienne had only jumped out of her skin about seven times. After the seventh, she told him to slow down or she’d switch and drive herself. That was threat enough to make him behave a little better.

“Will you come to the track tomorrow?” Jaime asked her. “You’ve never seen me drive before.”

“I’m seeing you right now, aren’t I?” she joked before offering him a nod and agreeing to come along, so long as she was allowed to bring a book for when she inevitably got bored.

Eventually, the abrupt awakening mixed with the gentle vibrations of the car underneath her, reminded Brienne just how tired she was _. I’ll just close my eyes a moment_ , she thought.

Curled up with her face nestled against her shoulder, she looked rather sweet. Her neck would be sore if she stayed there too long but nonetheless, she was always most charming when she was silent. Jaime gave her a gentle glance, lips curling up at the sight of her, and finished off the rest of the drive.

When they arrived, he shook her shoulder softly to wake her. When that failed to coax her from her dreams, he threw an old satsuma at her, watching it bounce squarely off her chest and laughing at the way she jerked upright. _Idiot._


	30. Chapter 30

It was 4o’clock. Everybody had managed to turn up a different degree of late and he knew it was no coincidence. Tywin _knew_ how reluctant his board were to hear of his intentions for the business.

Nothing had been officially said to any of them apart from Selwyn about his cancer, but all of them knew. Word spread fast. If anything was going to sate them, it was assurance, and he had little of that to offer them so he would have to settle for fear.

“Brandon, how nice of you to join us at last,” Tywin chided as the Stark entered the room. He was a pompous man and he thought much more of himself than he really ought, but he had _money_ and that was all that truly mattered.

The _Brandon_ was not unconsidered. He had been calling all his colleagues by their first names since they had taken up their shares. It was _seen_ as a sign of respect, they were _more_ than colleagues, but it wasn’t that at all. It was power. They were _boys_ to him, not men, and they would bend to his will without much effort at all.

“You know why we’re here,” he began with a jovial tone. “I’m dying! I know you’re all thrilled, I don’t care. Without a clear plan, this business will run through your fingers like shit on a Saturday morning, so we’re going to make a plan.”   
  
Most bosses would expect whispering, gossips in the office were no rare thing, but at Casterly? Nobody had the nerve to talk about Tywin Lannister, he had the ears of a bat and he would tear your tongue out if you so much as breathed defiantly. Casterly would not fall to the whims of lesser men, not while Tywin Lannister drew breath.

“Where _is_ your heir?”

“Making his own, I should think.” Tywin gave a prideful smirk. “He’s away with his girlfriend. He’ll be here next time, I assure you, Willas, he’s not shunning his responsibilities.”

It was strange, all that power in one room and it bent so easily. Willas Manderly cowed away from him for shame at his indignance. Brandon Tully might’ve blushed if he were a gentler man. Mace Tyrell did. Each of them had an empire at their disposal and yet, they would not dare to turn against their one true leader.

Tywin had been relieved to see his daughter had not arrived unannounced. He had lied to her when she’d asked when the next board meeting was. Nothing was going to stir the pot like the presence of his ever ambitious daughter.

“There will be a party on the 23rdof the month. An opportunity to remind the world that _nobody_ celebrates like _Casterly,_ and this is cause for celebration. A party in honour of my son, the new CEO of _Casterly_ and the inheritor of the greatest business empire in modern history. The penny-players will squabble for a few days and sell and buy and sell again but we shall reign victorious, as we always have.” He met Ned Stark’s stern gaze and the two shared a moment of infinite mutuality. “I am the fourth Lannister of _Casterly,_ this company did not fall as they did, and it will not fall with me. Diamonds are of a stronger substance than flesh, they will endure what we, as men, cannot.”   
  
For an hour, they sat there. He listened to men whine and whimper about what would become of the company under the wild hold of Jaime, and Tywin eased their woes with sweet glares and soft-spoken threats. They could not leave if they wanted to. He would ruin them as quickly as he had built them up, like skyscrapers in the middle of this suffocating little city.

“We are done here. Keep your business to yourself. Steady yourselves for a storm. What comes will not be easy, but it will no doubt be brief. This legacy will stretch further than any of us could fathom reaching. Go home to your wives and your children and your big fancy houses and live your lives. Nothing is going to change.”   
  
He watched them as they left, one by one, each more quickly than the last. They were frightened, not of him. For the first time in their lives, it seemed, they were all on one side. Things might collapse around their ears, but Tywin Lannister was there to prevent such things. Their fear was a pointless exercise.

Ned Stark was the last to go and Tywin often wondered at that man’s mind. The youngest and the freshest of the bunch, he was ambitious to a fault. If his daughter wanted a pony, he’d throw them all over just to find the fucking mare. Nobody valued the company less than Ned Stark; it was a job and nothing more to him.

“Are you truly so brave?” Mace asked and it was the first time in their shared life that Tywin had seen the man show any gall at all. 

“I have faith. Don’t you, Mace?” _Faith._ Not in the company. Not in himself. Not in any of these fools he called partners. But still he held out hope that his son would prove to be a worthy heir. Brienne would set him straight, that was her role, and if she failed, she would be gotten rid of and another found to take her place.  
  
“Oh, you’ll look after me, Tywin. You’ve always doted on your idiotic old bunkmate.” Tywin met his words with a smile, curling his lips up sweetly to hide the grimace. _I’d watch you fall to ruin if I thought there was something to gain._

The world can burn. The skies can blaze wild as they like. _Casterly_ will endure, rocks are fine things, and hard to destroy with such a simple thing as fire. Rocks don’t melt, they are broken only under hammer and axe and.… _mace._

“I’ll keep you warm and well.” It was true. There was no need to betray such a feeble hand as that. His danger rested only in what he had the potential to do. Kept sweet, he had no motive, and Mace was an idle man at the best of times. 

His fate will be in Jaime’s hands soon. He is only mine to keep a while, to hold for his new keeper. Just one pearl in the champion’s hoard that was his son’s by right. One single pearl.


	31. Chapter 31

She was wearing a dress. It was the first time he’d seen her willingly wearing something so extravagant in years. She wore a skirt when she felt she was supposed to and she certainly made an effort with her appearance at events but she was by no means the sort of woman who wore dresses.

When she came downstairs in a blue flowery thing that was, without a doubt, the flounciest thing she’d ever worn, he struggled to hide his shock. He thought he’d done an adequate job and swallowed his surprise but she just arched an accusatory eyebrow at him.

“Sansa packed for me,” she explained. “Prepare for a week of me looking like this.”

 _I’ve seen you looking worse,_ he caught himself thinking. She’d gone to no effort with her makeup and hair, likely in an attempt to counter the blatant dressiness of her outfit. It was only a hotel restaurant and she was going to stand out whether she wanted to or not.

The pair of them took a table in the far corner, away from view, for hopes they might be left alone. It was quiet, and suddenly it felt like the entire waiting staff was watching them with hawk eyes as they perused the menu.

“The steak isn’t going to disappear from the menu if you stop thinking so intently about it,” Brienne told him, and he realised just how thoughtfully he’d been staring at the menu as though he didn’t already know what he was getting. Even she could tell on such a concise menu what he planned to order.

“And for you, ma’am, the vegetable lasagne?” he replied in a hoity-toity tone, raising his forearm across his body and tipping his head towards her with a laugh.

Brienne rolled her eyes at him and looked across at the waiter. The young man almost fell over for how quickly he walked toward their table and asked if they were ready to order. They told him and handed back the menus with soft smiles, biting back laughter at the way he backed straight into a table.

“My father had a meeting with the board today.”

“I know. My Dad told me there was one coming up. I suspected you wanted an excuse to miss it,” she admitted, sipping her water. “Is that why we’re here? So you can avoid Tywin for a few days?”

“Avoiding him entirely takes far more skill than I possess. He called me, and when I didn’t answer, he left a six minute voicemail reminding of my responsibilities. He expects you to return pregnant, it would seem,” he told her with a smirk. “He’ll be terribly disappointed if he finds out that he paid for two rooms.”

 _Shit,_ she realised. _How were they going to get around that?_ They’d already checked in and there were indeed two rooms on the booking, but wasn’t Tywin going to realise.

“I paid for one in cash,” Jaime said. “Don’t worry. Not going to make you sleep in my bathtub or anything untoward.”

“What a shame,” she remarked. “Your snoring is so soothing to my ears, I don’t know how I’ll sleep with you so far from me.”   
  
Their food came out quicker than one might have thought possible. It almost ended up on the floor with the way the waiter hurried over to them fretfully, but it did indeed make it to the table intact. By the grace of God, they were left to eat alone.

Jaime snatched a forkful of her lasagne before she could argue, and she might’ve returned the favour if he weren’t so boorish as to order a ribeye. If she were hungrier, she might’ve been genuinely frustrated, but he’d stopped at Wahaca for her on the way and she’d filled the car with the smell of veggie tacos. _I’ll get it valeted once we’re home,_ he assured her.

“I was thinking, you know, Tuesday…would you want to go together? It might be…a little easier?” Jaime offered and Brienne smiled at him weakly.

“Let’s not think about it yet, but…sure.”

He noticed the way she shied away at the mere mention of it. It was not something she often shared, and here he was asking for a piece of it. Even so, he wouldn’t dwell; they had to survive the next week first.

They ordered desserts and Brienne managed to get chocolate on her chin. Jaime scoffed at her. “You’re such a fine lady,” he remarked.

“Piss off,” she retorted, wiping the crumbs away cleanly and sucking her thumb. “I might try harder if you weren’t such a child yourself.”

“Good God, never _try._ Have some mercy on a poor man’s soul, you’re already so effortlessly perfect,” he regaled teasingly, clasping his hands in front of his heart and pouting desperately. “To think what you could do if you really put the effort in, it’s rather terrifying.”

Brienne laughed boldly, her chuntering filled the round space of the room and he couldn’t help but grin at her. _What a marvellous fool,_ he thought, and she looked so terribly thrilled to be mocked by him. He tried to commit it to memory: her cheeks flush with the heat of racing blood, but no anger yet brewing at the notch of her jaw where it first could be seen. 

It was a fine line to walk. They would be bored if they weren’t infuriating each other and yet they were both so terribly stubborn that were he to say a word wrong, she’d ignore him for a week just to teach him a lesson. It felt like a game of Buckaroo.

“What time are we heading out tomorrow?” Brienne asked as she scooped the last of her cake to her mouth and took it daintily.

“We’ll have breakfast first,” he assured her. “Will you need me to come and wake you again?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage to _drag_ myself away from the duck feather down you’ve so generally provided me with,” Brienne said. “I s _hould_ turn in though. God knows how I’m still tired but in truth, I’m wiped out.”  
  
Jaime noticed the tiredness in her eyes. Her skin still glowed and her shoulders never slumped but he could see it in the way she stared right through him. She was too proud to let her exhaustion show in anything but that.

“Dream of me,” he said, and it was meant as a jape but it came out almost as an order. Brienne looked at him with confusion, as though he needed to be figured out. _Too tired,_ she admitted to herself and resigned herself to wonder. _It will not keep me up._

And it didn’t. She slept soundly. She dreamt of a White Arabian with no rider with a red and gold blanket, she sensed no name but he had an air of honour. She galloped with him through unfamiliar scapes until the dawn came and woke her.


	32. Chapter 32

Her daughter was the national pentathlon champion, and some small part of her was proud. Myrcella was building a reputation for herself from the ground up, but it left her mother more ambitious than proud. 

The plight of the truly outstanding was that they were never satisfied. Cersei Lannister had never felt satisfied with anything. She was always vying for something more. Her daughter would have the same mindset if Cersei had to drill it into her every day until she learned.

“This isn’t _it_ ,” her mother told her and Myrcella pursed her lips. _Let me be proud of myself for five minutes,_ she wanted to plead. It had been less than a week, and her mother was forcing her to increase her training hours. “Olympians don’t take days off.”   
  


It was 7am and she’d just finished swimming. They were in the car, driving home to have breakfast before she headed out to school. Suddenly, her mother was paying attention to her and frankly, Myrcella found the whole situation rather strange.

“I have four years before the next International Games, Mum,” Myrcella pointed out, scrolling her Instagram feed mindlessly as she spoke. “Coach Jory says there’s no need to rush these things. I’m still young.”

“Not that young,” Cersei answered, glancing towards her daughter. “Seventeen is young enough but not for an athlete, not for an Olympian, not even for a girl. My love, people are going to tell you your entire life why things are beyond your reach and you’re going to have to prove them wrong.”

It was exhausting. Myrcella always found that in her mother’s company, it was impossible to relax. There was nothing in the world that tired somebody like being reminded of what they were _going_ to become, and never of what they were. The present moment never amounts to anything in the eyes of Cersei, and her opinion is the only one that matters.

“Mum-” she began, stopping herself before she started an argument.

“Listen to me. Men are oafs, and if I could have made you one, I might have, but you’re going to be _better_ than that, aren’t you, Myrcy? You’re going to prove them all wrong.”  

Her muscles still ached from the weekend, but nothing was more uncomfortable than listening to her Mum go on and on about everything she was going to do. It was bizarre that Cersei had never pitted her children against each other, never tried to create animosity or even a competitive streak among them. It was _them_ against the world, and it wasn’t worth causing a raucous in one’s own home.

It wasn’t as though they could ever really be _better_ than each other anyway, because all of them were equally inadequate. It was impossible to please her, though she would never tell you she was disappointed, she was too proud for that.

“Myrcella, are you listening?”   
  
“I’m listening.” Her words were obedient to a fault.

Cersei lived vicariously through her children, she would make sure they were given the chances that were taken from her and she would make sure they _knew_ just how lucky they were. She would ruin herself building perfect narratives for them to follow and when they stepped out of line, she would coax them gently back to their rightful place.

 _Myrcy is the best of them_ she thought. It had always been in her mind and she wasn’t sure if it as true or whether her mind was biased by the fact she saw herself in the girl. The perfect balance between powerful and precious. She knew what she had, and she would hold onto it, but she wouldn’t let her desires rule her as Joffrey had. 

“Is it true about Uncle Jaime and Brienne the Bitch?” It had been out of her mouth before she’d even realised what she was saying. 

“Myrcella!” her mother chided, veering aimlessly around the Honda that they were stuck behind. “Don’t call her that. We’re women, and we don’t call girls bitches just because we don’t like them.”   
  
“Is it true?” she persisted, eyes glancing up at her mother from her phone screen.

Cersei was reluctant to answer her. She’d been pretending it wasn’t true since she’d first heard. She’d been hoping it would go away. Telling Myrcella made it real, yet it also gave her another ally, no matter how little.

“Apparently so,” Cersei conceded. “It will be short lived, I expect. They always got on each other’s nerves, I doubt a little lust is going to sate their conflict for very long.”   
  
Well, that killed the vibe. Myrcella scowled at the mention of lust. Her uncle was practically a monk. Since she’d been born, she couldn’t remember a single woman in his life. There must have been a handful, she was certain, but they were kept well out of her view and it suited her not to think about the fact that any member of her family had ever fucked at all.

“Planning something conniving, Mum?” she asked in a conspiratorial tone.

“Nothing for you to worry about, dear daughter. Keep to your own conspiracies,” Cersei said. The involvement of others would only mean greater risk, her net was cast wide enough for now. There was nothing good that could come of a scheme of a familial nature.

They would burn out by themselves. They were stuck at the other end of the country with nothing to _do_ but each other and that wasn’t going to prove successful if she knew her brother at all. Brienne had always annoyed him so, it didn’t matter how big her tits had grown or how dazzling her eyes, she was still the whining little girl who had pissed him off so entirely.


	33. Chapter 33

She didn’t understand it at all. She watched him for a little while before resigning herself to reading her book. After only two pages, she gave up and realised that the roar of the engine wouldn’t let her mind wander too far.

He’d told her to pay attention the way he ‘stroked the curves of the track’ and that had made absolutely no sense. He was driving; somewhat like a madman and a greater speed than she might ever dare to know but it was just driving. It made her anxious, more than impressed, and every time he left a turn to the last second, it was almost as though she could feel her heart pressing against her trachea and leaving her gasping for air.

It wasn’t _fun_ to watch.

“Girls _love_ watching race cars,” he told her at breakfast. “The thrill of it is unlike anything else. Women _love_ to worry and there’s nothing in the world more worrying than watching men throw themselves around in big hunks of metal at highspeed.”  
  
She had laughed at him. _Every time one of those idiots crashed, it deepened the gene pool_ , she thought. Now, here she was, eyes fixed on the ugly little car he was driving and wondering if he was going to turn himself into a pancake. Perhaps, just a few scrapes, she thought, and he’d be quiet for a few days so she could get the break she’d been longing for. 

Brienne was sat at the bottom of the stand closest to the finish line and the noise of it tore right through her. Such a clamouring roar went straight into her chest and rattled there inside her ribcage. _Earplugs,_ she noted down mentally. If he was going to make her come every day, she might at least retain her hearing. 

It came out of nowhere. She’d barely been paying attention. It had taken her a few seconds to realise he’d lost control, but a few seconds was an awful lot of distance when you were moving that fast. The car came to a skidding halt and she was running towards the car before she’d even realised

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as she climbed out of the car with wild eyes. “You can’t just run onto the track like that! I could’ve run you over!”

“I thought you were going to bloody crash!” she retorted angrily, furious at him for being absolutely fine and at herself for worrying that he might not be.

He pulled his helmet off and rested on top of the atrocity he called a car. There was genuine concern in her gaze and his first instinct was to tease her, but he couldn’t find the words instead, he offered: “I’m alive." 

The softness paled and colour filled her cheeks, her brow furrowed slightly, and her jaw steeled.

“We had a deal,” she snapped. “I’m your fake girlfriend. I’m not going to be your fake widow. Tywin would _kill_ me if I let you paint the road with your guts.”

A chuckle erupted from low in his belly, barely audible.

“Well I love you, too, Brienne” he joked, watching the way she pouted at him unable to maintain her fury. “I’ll finish for the day, I worry for your heart, old woman.”

Her fist went for his gut but he caught it with his own hands, cloaking her pale skin with his own, slightly darker. She had lunged right into his space with it and he was practically holding her up, she loomed over him rather awkwardly and kept the sun out of his eyes as he watched her for a long moment.

Jaime’s eyes flickered down to her lips for less than a moment. They were cast agape, breathing still not entirely settled from the way she had pelted to his side. He spotted the blush in her cheeks and knew she’d noticed. He dropped her hand and drew back a step.

“I’ll take it round to the garage quick and then we can go,” he announced, reaching for the helmet.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to deliver you? It seems you’re out of practice,” she joked lightly, rounding for the passenger side without a second thought for the book she’d left on her seat.

“Not today,” Jaime replied with a smirk. “I would like to see that though, you _really_ driving. Ferraris are averse to going at less than 80 so you’d have to be a little brave.”   
  
She’d like that, she realised. The feel of a real engine underneath her, Jaime described it almost the same way as she might describe a horse as though it was just slightly alive. His passion for it frightened her but she felt like a hypocrite in that; horses were far harder to tame than cars.

Jaime was remarkably considerate for half a minute. He waited for her to put her seatbelt on and at her pointed glare, put his on too. He kicked up the engine and took a steady 60 to the track’s edge but it was short lived. The long stretch between the track and the garages was done in what felt like less than a second. He’d practically stamped on the accelerator and Brienne’s relaxed posture was snapped back suddenly against the seat.

“Jaime,” she snapped angrily, fighting the way a smile crept to her lips, holding her breath until he turned into the garage and slammed the brakes. “If I get whiplash, I will kill you in your sleep.”

“Thinking of coming into my bedroom _again?_ My, my, Brienne. What would our fathers think?” The young worker took the key from Jaime’s hand wordlessly and left the two to squabble, seemingly unfazed by their antics. Brienne might have spared him a thankful glance if she weren’t so busy glaring at Jaime, but she was.

He owed her a drink, she’d decided. For almost dying, for almost killing her with fright, she couldn’t decide what for but no matter, she was definitely in line for the most expensive scotch the hotel had in stock.

“Let’s get back,” she suggested easily, ignoring the way her gut clenched at the thought of getting into a car with him again. He wasn’t so stupid as to behave recklessly where others could see; he was careless only when she was watching.


	34. Chapter 34

He was surprised when Tywin asked him to come into the office. They didn’t meet at the office, not ever really unless someone else was joining them. He knew it meant something, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Selwyn,” he greeted dryly and already it felt like the room was shrinking around him.

Even the way he’s sitting: squarely behind his desk so the great hunk of wood is set between them. For the first time, Selwyn felt like a guest. He had always been made to feel at home. It was unnerving.

“Tywin,” he replied tensely. “What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me the truth,” he commanded, eyes set on Selwyn’s awkward form.

There was so much between them: decades of histories. They spent their entire lives ignoring it, pretending they were merely passing acquaintances. It was far too much to take into consideration every time they saw each other. 

 _Which truth?_ Selwyn wanted to ask. There was so much unsaid between them and neither of them knew where the begin.   
  
“About what?”   
  
“I think you know,” answered Tywin and he had that face on. Selwyn had only ever seen it in meetings where he was trying to appear threatening, meetings where he was _feeling_ a little threatened too. “Brienne and Jaime.”

 _Our greatest allegiance,_ Selwyn thought wistfully. They were a sort of insurance, at worst, and a promise for the future, at best. “What of them?”  
  
“Two rooms,” Tywin said. “I called the hotel to make sure they’d checked in and they booked two rooms. Not the happy couple I thought. 

It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t explain it. How did Tywin expect him to? Why did he? They’d conjured up the plan together and it had worked, hadn’t it? “What?”

“Pretend not to know.” Tywin said. “Pretend not to know or actually remain clueless I don’t particularly care. It’s not like you were contributing much, useless little shit. 

Selwyn set his face like stone. It wasn’t unexpected. This had been bubbling beneath the both of them for years now. Now, it was happening, at long last. There was relief in hearing the words, in watching the façade fall away.

“I should go,” Selwyn declared, standing up and swallowing thickly. “Call me when you want to act like an adult.”

It was bold of him. He was lily-livered, renownedly so, but suddenly he’d found some nerve. It wasn’t long-lasting, he wanted to leave as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

“If you have betrayed me,” Tywin sneered. “If you have constructed some scheme beyond my gaze, if you are trying to double cross me, remember what has happened to the men who have tried before you.”

Selwyn watched him for a long moment. He was so composed in everything, and yet in this, Tywin seemed to be taking a risk. His eyes were fixed on a piece of paper in front of him and his hands were fisted tightly. Then came a spluttering cough.

He went to grab some water out of pure instinct, hurried back to his old friend’s side in the same vein and it was only when he saw the frustration in Tywin’s bloodshot eyes that he remembered they had been arguing only a minute ago.

The graceful Lannister man was graceless in his choking. He hacked through each breath and gave up on the water before he’d even swallowed it. It tasted like copper, he realised, and when the first specks of blood hit the white paper, he wasn’t surprised. 

“I’ll call an ambulance,” and he wasn’t in any position to argue. He couldn’t have uttered the words no matter how hard he’d tried.

It lingered there between them. Selwyn doted on him as he felt he ought to. Tywin swallowed down his rage. _It could wait until later._ They were fighting for the sake of what would happen once he was dead, and he was in the rather time-consuming process of dying.

When Selwyn called each of the children in turn and told them what had happened, he had been wont to argue. Alas, he had no breath with which to complain, instead he slept. 

“Why are you still here?” asked Tywin when he woke. 

“Tyrion’s on his way but he was down in Brighton for some party so he’ll be a couple of hours. I’ll stay until he gets here,” and he might have laughed if his chest didn’t hurt so much. “Jaime and Brienne are coming back early too.”

 _No,_ he wanted to argue. _Make them stay there and suffer each other’s company._

“Cersei?” he asked. She wouldn’t come, he knew. Until there was confirmation that his heart had stopped, her time would not be wasted on him. There was a rotation between the three of them to deal with him; they thought he was clueless, but nothing went on under his roof without his knowledge. Cersei had found a way out of her _turn_ , as it were, for the last half dozen rotations.

“She sends her love,” Selwyn vowed unconvincingly. Tywin imagined what her love might look like, but all he could see was stern words and cold hands. _She is the most like me,_ he remembered, though he’d spent all her adult life trying to forget it.


	35. Chapter 35

Brienne had taken the call. Selwyn had pointed out that he might take it better from her. He’d been getting ready for dinner and the temptation to wait until they’d eaten was overwhelming, but she couldn’t keep it from him. 

“Jaime,” she began and it was so soft that it startled him. “Tywin’s in hospital. My Dad rang and told me, it’s not _that_ serious but he’s going to be there for a few days. I told Dad we’d probably drive back in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jaime agreed placidly. “We’ll set off after breakfast.”

She noticed how reserved he was at dinner. She took it for worry though she couldn’t have been further from the truth. _He finds a way to take this from me too,_ Jaime was thinking. _I thought she was my protection, but a man ought not grow so fond of his shield._

“He’ll be alright,” Brienne offered weakly. “I mean- for now, at least. You have time.”

 _I don’t want it,_ he thought. The incomparable agony of this empty space, this waiting room existence he was living while his father died.

He had curled into his own thoughts and she kept coaxing him out with simple offerings. _Some bread. A glass of whiskey. A forkful of her food. The song in the elevator._ He was skittish as a mouse in that and there was shame in how he cowed away from her.

“Would you drive like a madman in moonlight?” she’d asked, hoping to coax some real response from him but seeing only emptiness in his eyes. “Let me drive in the morning. I promise I’ll be quick.”

Jaime made no argument. He had no energy for that.   
  
He wouldn’t sleep, she knew that. There was exhaustion spread across his expression, but the anxiety would keep him up no matter. It would be a long night 

“I’ll help you pack,” she announced, letting him go ahead of her but not giving him room to shut her out. “Go and have a shower.”

Obediently, he went, and ten minutes later, he returned with damp hair and the smell of apricots. His suitcase was closed now and folded neatly on top were clothes for the drive home. Boxers, socks, jeans, a grey t-shirt.

“Get in bed,” she commanded, and he walked like a zombie to the side of the bed, falling easily beneath the duvet. “Please _try_ to get some sleep.”

He wanted to ask her to stay. He wanted her to distract him from his woes. She was good at that, she always had been. The first time he’d had his heart broken, by a girl in secondary school, she’d kicked him in the balls and called him a coward and they’d argued for so long that afternoon that he’d forgotten his heart was even broken. He wanted to go back to yesterday, to the laugh she had offered up so freely to him and stay there for a little while.

Brienne was at his side suddenly. She pulled the duvet up to his chin and waited for him to shut his eyes. It felt so alien. Taking care of him, him being taken care of; he was so independent that he might’ve been uncomfortable if he wasn’t busy feeling vulnerable.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” she whispered and pushed his damp hair back off his forehead before making for the door.

He fell asleep almost instantly. It was so warm and dark and drowning that he couldn’t keep awake. Jaime stole away into the night and let himself forget the world was there.

In his dreams, he was a boy again. The garden of the old house had seemed so massive back then. Hours had been spent chasing through the endless green and they’d been _free_ if only for a little while. Galladon and he had played at being knights, and Cersei and Brienne had been princesses though Brienne of course, insisted on wielding a blade all the same.

The children weren’t them though. It was just the same: two girls and two boys but they weren’t the same children. These were strangers, familiar though they seemed, and when he woke, he wondered what it meant.

 _I’m not that boy anymore,_ he knew. _I wouldn’t recognise him anyway._  
  
It wasn’t yet dawn when he rose, but sleep felt impossible. He was tempted to go to her and in his maddened state, he found he couldn’t fight the urge.

The knock on her door was barely there. If she hadn’t been sleeping so dreadfully, she might not have heard it. It was barely a moment before she pulled it open, arms wrapped defensively around her scantily-clad form. _Fucking Sansa,_ she thought.

“Did I wake you?” Jaime asked, relieved at the shake of her head and the way she ushered him into her room. “I couldn’t sleep anymore.”

“I’ll put the telly on,” she mumbled tiredly. _Still not a morning person,_ he noted. “Try and get some rest, even if you don’t sleep.”

Brienne flopped back onto the bed, bringing her knees up and leaning against the headboard. Her hand reached out to pat the spot beside her and was pleased when he took the hint.

They laid there, side by side, with Frasier re-runs filling the silence. The sun came up and Brienne jerked away, her skull smacking against the headboard as she woke abruptly. Her head had fallen onto Jaime’s shoulder as she’d slept.

She murmured an apology and rose from the bed to get ready. It was going to be a long day and they both had to get through it in one piece. _Time to face the music,_ she told herself, except the music was Tywin and he was a terrifying rendition of Bach that put the fear of God into any sane person.

Even from a hospital bed, Tywin Lannister could make a grown man whimper. She was not so feeble as a man, but her legs might shake a little all the same. _I’ll be strong,_ she vowed, _for him, if not myself._


	36. Chapter 36

The drive dragged on unbelievably. Jaime slept for most of it and when he was awake, all he did was stare out of the window. It was bizarre. He was so full of life all of the time that it was like watching slow motion, he wasn’t _doing_ anything, and it was unnerving to say the least.

 _He’s going to be alright,_ she wanted to say but it was a blatant lie. His concern had surprised her she was ashamed to admit. Their whole lives, she’d watched the Lannisters shun the responsibility of their father at every turn.

Tywin Lannister was a dreadful man and a cruel father. Most would struggle to care for him, but those raised which his blasé attitude to emotions had no real chance at all. He was still their Dad though; underneath all of it, he was all they’d ever really known and that was in danger.

“We’ll go straight to the hospital,” she told him as he watched her drive past the turn for his house. It was going to be a nightmare driving in central, and there was nothing she wanted to do less but it would do neither of them any good to traipse around the London Underground with Jaime in such a state.

His stubble was starting to come through and it made him look wearied. _It suits him,_ Brienne thought. He had an angst-ridden sort of face: all sharp edges and sullen looks and shadows.

“Will you come in?” asked Jaime when they parked up and she was taken aback by the weakness of his tone. It had been so long since she’d seen him like this, and he’d hidden himself away back then so all she knew were glances of this sadness.

Silently, she nodded and followed him through the hallways of The Royal London Hospital until he found oncology and asked a nurse to direct them.

“Jaime,” a voice came, and Brienne knew already that Tyrion was drunk. _I would be too,_ she told herself. Tywin Lannister for a father and a dying one at that would drive _anybody_ to drink. “He’s insufferable.”

He breathed out a stale chuckle at that and his thoughts have never been so plain upon his face. _He’s always insufferable._ The two brothers weren’t close: they only ever interacted when it was necessary, and even then, their relationship was less than familiar.

“You go,” Jaime offered. “I’m sure you’ve had your fill of being told how the world will decay along with his corpse. 

Tyrion gave a grateful nod and told them that Selwyn was still here. Her ever-doting father would never leave his friend’s side, no matter how twisted and bitter he became. The both of them in one room, she realised, was going to be a trial. Jaime wasn’t in any state to be interrogated, but Tywin would care none for his son’s concern.

“The lovers return,” Tywin chimed as they stepped into his room with cheerful faces. “Nice time?”

Brienne blushed. Her fingers reached out and brushed Jaime’s forearm. He bit his lip and glanced sideward to her before returning his attention to his father.

“Lovely opportunity to get out of the city for a few days,” Jaime answered, eyes running down Selwyn’s tired looking form.

“Terribly sorry to drag you away,” Tywin said scathingly. If it wasn’t for the tube at his nostril and the way the blue gown hung off his bony frame, he might’ve incited terror. In his hospital bed, he looked like a frightened old man, no matter how fiercely he spoke.

 Jaime crossed to his father’s bedside and if they were any other two people, he might have hugged him. He didn’t, of course, and it would have been quite the spectacle if the two had even interacted but still the static space between them set the watching Tarths on edge. 

“When are they letting you go home?” Brienne asked, trying desperately to fill the silence though she regretted it.

“Two hotel rooms. Are you trying to be frivolous or frustrate me or does she repulse you quite so much as that?” Jaime’s whole demeanour shifted, just a fraction, but it was easy to see. Where he had appeared the doting son only a moment ago, there was now only vexation.

Brienne was dumbstruck. She might’ve intervened if it wasn’t for her father there, and Jaime looking so fragile. It wasn’t her fight to have, and so she stood and listened to Tywin rant at his son about what an embarrassment it was, to know he couldn’t even get a woman into his bed. _He thinks this is all a game,_ Brienne realised. He’s playing with their lives and treating them like pawns because it’s all a game to him.

Jaime stood and listened to him rattle on for what felt like forever before he stalked straight out of the room. Tywin yelled after him, but he didn’t stop to hear whatever vitriol he spat, instead he grabbed Brienne by the wrist and pulled her into the corridor. 

“Are you alright?” she asked softly. The way he looked at her was almost wounding, as though she was bold to assume that she could speak to him at all. “I’d forgotten how badly he treated you.”

“Just go,” he sneered. “I’ll fix this mess.”

She wanted to argue but there was rage in his eyes. His hurt would not be lessened by her presence. Not when he was so angry at her, angry at the world. There was nothing she could do but to leave him alone. _Still a child,_ she remembered, _underneath it all._

Reluctantly, she took the car keys from her pocket and handed them to him. “Call me,” she said, “once you’re home.”

He was hurt and being Jaime, he had decided that everyone around him deserved to be hurt too. If she didn’t know him better, she’d have thought he was just being a bastard for the sake of it, but it wasn’t that.

Brienne was mad at him all the same. She shoved past half a dozen innocent commuters on the tube home and didn’t give a damn. It wasn’t _her_ fault that Tywin had found out, it wasn’ even her fault that she’d taken separate rooms. He’d never _asked_ her if she’d share with him.

They’d shared a room as kids before. A hundred times they’d come back from a party and Cersei, with a boy, would mean that Brienne couldn’t take up her normal place. The two girls had slept as sisters might and when Cersei had, on occasion, cast her aside for a finer kind of bedfellow, Jaime had taken her in and they had topped-and-tailed in his four-poster

 _It’s not me he’s angry with,_ she told herself. The way he’d looked at her, though, was reason enough to doubt that fact. He’d listened to his father call her _a_ _useless endeavour_ and said she’d be _bagged easily enough_ and then he’d shunned her. He’d sent her away like a well-trained pup.


	37. Chapter 37

Sansa had insisted on meeting for coffee and Brienne found herself nursing her Keep Cup between her palms and praying she’d forget to come.

Of course, she didn’t. Sansa turned up exactly eleven minutes late and grinned wildly at Brienne, unfazed by the tired expression on her friend’s face. Nothing _ever_ fazed her. 

“So,” she prompted. “How was it?”

“Fine, how are you? How’s Margaery?” responded Brienne in the hopes she’d forget she asked. Sansa frowned at her and didn’t answer the question. “What?”

“What happened?" 

 _Sweet Sansa_ , she thought. To see the world through her eyes would be a dream. Such optimism never graced a kinder face and suddenly she found herself wanting to protect the girl’s innocence. She was twenty now and still she’d seen all the good in the world and kept hold of it.

A girl like her would sort Jaime right out. Tell him to be happy until he gave into it and was. If she was less miserable, she might find it in her heart to help him, but she was a miserable sort of woman.

“Tywin’s in the hospital so we came back early,” she told. “We had an argument. Tywin was being Tywin and Jaime didn’t stop him. It’s…it’s fine, we’ll be fine, I’m just mad at him.”

She was speaking it into existence. It _would_ be fine. It had to be. She’d find it in her to forgive him eventually, she knew what it was to hold a grudge against Jaime Lannister, and she wasn’t going back there. Not so soon after she’d forgiven him for the first time.

Being mad at him reaped no benefits. It only wasted time and energy that she didn’t have to spare. He was already a sad case, he didn’t need her contributing to his plight on top of that.

“What did he do?” Sansa questioned and it was sweet the way she concerned herself. Brienne had always been _her_ counsellor and never the other way around but she was trying all the same.

Her tone was remarkably stoic. It wasn’t a side of Sansa that she’d seen before. The softness was all gone from her and she looked entirely a woman, the girlishness hidden by a belittling glare. 

“Tywin decided to throw some insults,” Brienne explained. “It was nothing really but the fact he just stood there, and then he told _me_ to go. That sounds stupid, like I expected him to cast his father out of his own hospital bed, but I only mean that it felt like he was ashamed of me. I felt like I was in the wrong, and I wasn’t, so I’m mad at him.”

She sounded like a whining child. She knew she did. If they weren’t in Starbucks, she might have raised her voice, but people might be listening, and she wasn’t in the mood to make a fool of herself. He wasn’t _worth_ looking like an idiot over.

It felt ridiculous to be so frustrated with him when he hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t _done_ anything, and it was unfair to be mad at him for not picking a fight with his own father. He owed her no protection; she was _supposed_ to be his. 

“You’ll forgive him. Margaery’s been mad at me for much worse and she _always_ forgives me. It’ll work itself out,” assured Sansa. It was comical to hear her compare them, there were no two more different couples; one was _real,_ to begin with.

She listened to Sansa’s empty reassurances for almost an hour, and when she left, she felt no better. It had been almost three days since she’d left the hospital and he hadn’t so much as texted her. When she saw him, she’d throttle him just for making her worry. Eventually, she would find reason enough to reach out to him, but until then, she would simply have to wonder if he was dead.

Perhaps he was, and perhaps that would be easier. At least she’d never have to face him.


	38. Chapter 38

The pub was almost derelict. Anyone walking past might have thought that it was closed, and it didn’t bother the bartend if they did. It was late and he wanted nothing more than to close up early, pull himself a pint, and go to bed.

Alas, he could not. His one and only customer was sat at the end of the bar, nursing three double scotches, tipped into one glass _after_ they’d been served. Bronn wasn’t interested in getting into conflict with the licensing authorities.

“Have you ever despised someone so much that you would actually kill them if you had the opportunity?”

Bronn looked at the small man with an arched eyebrow and began to laugh. Nobody thought about killing people more often than Bronn, nobody despised anyone the way Bronn despised strangers he passed in the street. There was nothing spiteful about Tyrion; he was a drunken little idiot but there wasn’t any _real_ spite in him.

“Valid point,” Tyrion conceded with a smirk. “Have you ever thought about killing me?”   
  
“You single-handedly keep this place open with the amount you drink, I’d lose profits if I killed you,” said Bronn. “It’s been a passing thought but I’ve never _planned_ it. Most people I’ve planned it, like to fill my evenings with something thought-provoking." 

He made himself an old fashioned and threw it back, revelling in the sweet burn.  

It had been two hours since Tyrion walked in and ordered his first drink, and he wouldn’t leave until he was good and ready. It was hard to imagine evenings _without_ him there now. Bronn had grown so accustomed to closing down with Tyrion sat at the end of the bar, spieling nonsense about the cruelties of the world as he locked the pub doors.

“If I killed my father, would you help me hide the body?”   
  
“Depends how much of his money you’re gonna be giving me for it.” It was hard to tell when Bronn was joking. Everything that came out of his mouth was doubly a joke and deadly serious, he was the hardest man to gauge that Tyrion had ever known, harder even than his father.

  _Much easier to handle though,_ Bronn thought. He might be hard to understand but he was a man of simple desires. Pay him enough and he’ll love you like a brother. If only there was a man breathing rich enough to _buy_ Tywin Lannister’s loyalty.

“No point risking prison, I say,” Tyrion mused before he took a gulp of his whiskey. “He’ll die soon enough, I’ll just have to endure him a while longer.” 

“ _Endure_ elsewhere please, I want to go and remind Lolly why she married me and I’d rather you weren’t here to watch. Bottoms up, and arses up too.”

 Tyrion gave a pout that might have made anybody other than Bronn laugh. He drained his glass in one fell swoop and stood to leave.

“You wound me, Bronn.” He was corralled out of the door though it didn’t take too much forcing, the whiskey has loosened his legs and he was wobbling a little in his walk. Half way home, he pulled out his phone and called his brother.

No answer. He waited for the tone and conjured heartfelt words. 

“Brother,” he started his ode. “you’re tougher than I am, tougher even than Cersei I think but you’re absolutely dreadful at letting people in. I want you happy, and this nonsense with Brienne is giving me a headache. Make it something real or finish it. Neither of you deserve to have your hearts so dangerously played with.”

 He stumbled over the curb and almost tripped but caught himself.

“She’s nice. I always liked her anyhow. Good taste in movies, I remember, and terrible taste in men. She’d be good for you, I think. She really would. I won’t humour you anymore. You don’t _talk_ like you’re pretending or rather you do, you talk like it’s all real." 

Tyrion thought of the two of them together. He grinned boyishly at the prospect and slipped his phone into his pocket, forgetting to end the call entirely. In bed that night, he tossed and turned until the moon was high, and then he slept.


	39. Chapter 39

Her anger has faded to nothing now. She’s sick of being mad at him when there are more important things to worry about. Sunday had come. Sunday 12thof April _. Eleven years_ , she thought. 

Jaime might message at long last. It was the only day of the year when he almost always text her. Just a quick “ _hope you’re alright”_ but it was something at least. The only reason they hadn’t lost touch entirely.

She’d woken and as soon as she remembered what today was, she had willed herself to fall back asleep. It was remarkable the way she continued to feel each year. Everyone assured her it would get easier but on April 12th, she would wake, and it would feel like the day he died all over again.

Selwyn never went with her. There was something about that _kind_ of vulnerability that he couldn’t bear to share with her. He could cry with her and grieve with her but going to the cemetery was something else entirely.

At noon, she left the house and made her way there.

It was quiet. She was glad for that. Seeing other people in graveyards only served to remind her how many people had died. It was morbid, and she didn’t like to dwell on it. She only wanted to think of him.

“Jaime’s a prick,” she announced to the soft silence. “You’d kick him in the shins if you were here, I know you would. I thought he’d finally learned but apparently not. He still knows exactly how to hurt me.”

She chattered on for the best part of an hour. Each year she would come and it would feel like they were catching up. Every little thing that had happened, everything that mattered at the least, would be told to his grave. 

For a long while, she just lingered there. It was time to leave and yet she couldn’t bring herself to. Each year she struggled and each year, she eventually found the will to go.

“Hi.” Barely a whisper, she would’ve thought it a ghost if she hadn’t turned so fast and seen him. “I’m sorry I’m a shit.”

Brienne wouldn’t argue with him now. Not where Gal could hear them, silly as it sounded. No matter, he’d apologised and that was not a thing that Jaime did. It might’ve been ingenuous, but it was an apology all the same. 

“That’s alright, you were worried,” she offered weakly. “I should go.”

He watched her pass him before he reached for her wrist and stopped her. Her eyes snapped back to meet his. _Stay,_ he pleaded silently.

“Better to wallow together than my ourselves, come back to mine. We’ll order pizza and drink a lot of beer and remember the good old days.”

 With a gentle nod, she walked a little way off so he could have a moment with Galladon. She watched him from that distance, and he seemed so fragile in his grief. There was nothing _she_ could do; she wasn’t her brother, no matter how much she had tried to live up to his reputation

His lips were moving though she couldn’t tell what he said. It was private, she told herself. His grief was his and his alone, there was nothing she could do to take it from him though she might have tried in earnest. 

“We should go,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts and he was at her side all of a sudden.

A gentle nod was all she offered in return, but it felt like enough. They were in the middle of an argument that had never ended but she was still there for him, no matter how much of a dick he’d been.

Jaime had brought the Audi with him and she was surprised at that. He enjoyed being reckless when he was sad, she’d learnt that quickly, and here he was making the responsible choice. It was like looking at a completely different man to the one she’d watched tear around a racecourse.

She fell into the passenger seat and let herself relax a little. They curled through the city streets and she didn’t bother to panic when he came close to another car, he wasn’t going to let her get hurt.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked bluntly. It wasn’t Galladon, she might’ve believed that if he was acting the way he always did but this was _new_. She wasn’t sure she liked it. She wasn’t very sure of anything.  

“My Dad’s dying and my best friend’s dead. What _isn’t_ wrong?”

The air shifted in the car at that. He was deflecting. Nobody knew how to _avoid_ a conversation like Jaime did, and she was entirely aware of what he was doing but he’d been so blunt. It took a moment to compose herself. _Of course he is acting oddly_ , she thought. It wasn’t right though, none of it made sense. It made her head spin.

 _Later,_ she thought. Once he’s got a couple of drinks in him he won’t be so well-hidden behind his words. It felt cruel to expose him so but Galladon wasn’t here to keep him in check; _somebody_ had to do it and she was the only one who could.


	40. Chapter 40

It was bizarre to watch her like this. He hadn’t seen her drunk in years, not since they were kids, and in adulthood, it suited her better. She was giggly when she was drunk, always had been, and the blush that rose in her cheeks wouldn’t fade until she sobered.

He listened to her rattle on about Galladon mindlessly until she’d run out of things to say. It wasn’t often that he saw her so open, so willing to hand over the truth.

There was an empty pack of Heineken on the floor and he wondered how they’d managed it so quickly. It hadn’t been quick at all, he realised, the sun was setting outside and they must have been there for hours without even noticing the time pass.

“Oh my God! Do you remember The House of Love?” she exclaimed suddenly, rising up onto her knees in unprompted excitement. “That gig we all went to, in Brixton?” 

Jaime laughed. Of course, he remembered. He’d fucked his first girl in a bathroom stall that night and he didn’t even know her name; he always lied when anyone asked and said it was Alysanne Mormont who he had, in fact, slept with about a month later.

“I remember it,” he answered, self-aware of how he slurred. “Gal got into a fight and we ended up in A&E.”

“Some prick was all over Cersei and he didn’t like it. God, I forget the way we used to be. You two and us two, never apart. No wonder people thought we were going to end up together. _Jack shall have Jill, nought shall go ill,_ they used to tease.”

 Her expression was almost mirthful. They’d all been happy enough back then but it wasn’t something they reminisced about, or at least _he_ didn’t. Cersei had still believed she had a chance at getting the company, she wasn’t so brimming with bitterness yet though it was always _there,_ waiting to break the surface.

“She might have married him, you know. After the divorce, I remember her telling me she _should’ve_ married him. It struck me as odd that she’d ever admit it. Those two had been like cat and dog their entire lives, though in a vaguely sexy way I suppose. He would’ve been a good business venture, that’s probably what she saw in him.”   
  
_At least he’s safe from that fate,_ Jaime thought. Gods forbid so good a man as Galladon ended up with a woman like his sister, he’d dote on her like none other and she’d take him for all he had. Cersei needed someone just a little _terrible_ if they were to survive loving her, he’d learned that the hard way.

Brienne’s nose creased at the thought of that. She’d heard the implication made a thousand times, but it was still a terrifying image.

“We’d be in-laws. People might finally stop thinking we were fucking,” she mused with a smirk. “Our fathers wouldn’t be trying to couple us off anymore.” 

“Nonsense, I think they’d love to have us all so tightly bound,” Jaime jeered. “People might be terribly confused but they’d get over it. It would’ve taken the pressure off though.”

They’re sat on the sofa, closer together than they would normally set themselves but there’s an empty pizza box on Jaime’s lap that they’d been sharing. He’s uncomfortably aware of how close she is, and he wonders if she knows already. Tyrion’s voicemail had laid it out in front of him, but he’d always been a slow learner and Brienne was of a quicker uptake.

It was shameful. He wanted to finish things before he let her any closer, but he couldn’t. This arrangement had become a bizarre kind of necessary. He’d told his father that he thought she was _the one,_ that’s why they were waiting: he didn’t want to rush things like he always tended to. 

“Maybe we should just get married, that’ll keep them off the scent,” she joked. _God_ , he thought, _she’s glorious._

“Okay,” he blurted out and he realised that the alcohol had hit him square in the chest and his courage was of the Dutch sort.

Brienne burst into a glorious laugh, head flung backwards as though she hoped the heavens heard it. It made _him_ want to laugh along with her, but he couldn’t bring himself to. The words were real, and she’d laughed at them; his beer-soaked heart was hurt.

She exhaled heavily and looked at him with an unabashed seriousness. It would’ve been normal if they weren’t sat so close together but the way she sat cross-legged meant her knee was pressed up hard against his thigh and it felt like it was burning.

There was some shitty love song on the radio, and it mixed with the beer inside his brain to make him unjustly brave.

He surged forward and kissed her clumsily. It was messy and likely looked ridiculous to anyone watching but she moved against him, she kissed him back and that made him bolder still.

For all of ten seconds, he was blissful in that moment until his brain caught up with the rest of him and realised what he was doing. He pulled back and dropped his gaze. _Shit,_ he thought. _She’s drunk. She’s drunk and I just kissed her and God, I really hope she blacks out._  

“I should go,” she declared sullenly and rose up. Though her steps were weaving slightly, she seemed determined enough in her path. There was no point trying to stop her, trying to apologise.

 _Bollocks._ He wanted to say he’d never drink again but even as the thought crossed his mind, he went into the kitchen to grab another beer. He couldn’t bear this sober. One more beer and then he’d sleep.

“Absolute moron,” he bit out. It was the beer that had done it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think she wanted him, to think she’d ever have anything to _do_ with him if they weren’t stuck in this funny little arrangement.

He hadn’t even realised it was happening. He’d fancied her before: a silly little schoolboy crush when they were teenagers and she was becoming a woman and he thought there wasn’t anyone as beautiful as her. He’d gotten over It, but here she was looking so wonderfully alive and he couldn’t help himself from wanting that.

 _I’m still the idiot that cockblocked her,_ he reminded himself. She might have forgiven him a little, but she wasn’t going to fall into his arms any time soon.


	41. Chapter 41

Brienne woke with a pounding head, a missed call from her father, and her untainted recollection of the night before. The call was accompanied by a voicemail telling her to be ready for a dinner party at 7o’clock this evening.

She had never been _less_ enthused by the thought of eating. When she learned that it would in fact be in the company of the Lannister clan, her stomach turned once more and she was sick with the mere thought of it. 

Still, she got herself ready for such an occasion. She shrugged on a nude dress and a pair of heels and took a couple of ibuprofen. She’d slept until three she realised, and Tywin was not a man who endorsed city living so she needed time to get there.

Being late wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Saying she hadn’t checked her phone wouldn’t be the greatest sin. Yet, she forced herself to make the effort and at 6:50, knocked on the front door.

“Darling!” Tywin greeted overzealously, pulling her into a very uncomfortable hug, the cagiest embrace she’d ever been engaged in. “You don’t have to _knock_! You’re family, right?”

The falseness of his tone was distracting; she couldn’t focus on his words when they were so dramatically recited. He’d always performed for everybody he met, it was a remarkable act. She’d known him her entire life and she didn’t think she’d ever seen more than a glimpse of his true nature. 

“Did Dad get here already?” she asked him, following him through to the dining room. Inside of it sat Jaime and her father, chatting casually. Jaime hurried to his feet at the sight of her and grinned like a fool.

He wrapped her in a tight hug, and she breathed in the scent of him. _For show,_ she thought.

The kiss had set her on edge. She’d spent all day trying to figure out how to act around him now. She hadn’t cared before, or she hadn’t realised that she did. It should’ve been nothing.

She’d known it would come, or at the very least been prepared for it; people would get curious about why they weren’t more tactile in close company and they would have to change their minds. _That_ would have been different though. They’d been alone and he had kissed like he meant it and she still felt a little dizzy.

“Are you alright, love?” Selwyn questioned, frowning at her worriedly. “Feeling okay?”

“Fine, Dad,” she told him wryly.

Tyrion and Cersei had arrived. She’d failed to even notice them walk in but there they were, sat dutifully in their seats and making clear to everybody how eager they were to leave. Jaime at least put on a bit of a show, no matter how pointless it was. If he’d acted like his sister, Brienne might not have found the will to stay.

 Jaime reached for her hand, twined their fingers together where they rested in her lap. _Touch starved_ , she thought. For as long as this has been going on, he’s not been with another woman; it wouldn’t be the worth the risk of Tywin finding out and learning their secret, so he’d been _alone_ for all these months. No wonder he’d stooped to kissing her. _Desperation is a powerful motive._

“I got us all here together for a catch up,” Tywin started. “We used to do it a lot, but you kids have grown up and made lives for yourselves and we two can’t have eyes _everywhere_.”  
  
He was being so jovial that it made Brienne felt nauseous. Jaime’s hand squeezed hers as he noticed her tense.

She wondered if he remembered last night. _It would be easier to forget,_ she told herself. He would go as usual and she would never mention it to him, but if he _knew_ , he’d never be the same with her again. They’d be _awkward_ which was the only thing they’d _never_ been together.

“Bri,” Jaime prompted, and suddenly she was back at the dinner table. “Are you going to eat anything?” 

Her eyes met his in a gentle confusion, blinking firmly before giving an overconfident nod and grabbing for her fork.

It was a blur through dinner. She cleared her plate and sat quietly until everyone else was done too. The alcohol was still in her system and the great chandelier over their heads gave the room and fiery hue that made her eyes sting. 

Jaime kept looking at her like something was wrong. He brushed his fingers down the length of her arm. He wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb. He kept finding excuses to touch her like he needed to make sure she was still there. _I’m fine,_ she wanted to tell him but her lies were transparent to him; it wasn’t even worth trying.

“Shall we go?” he offered once they were done with dessert, but she only glanced absent-mindedly at him. “You need to go to bed.”

 It yanked her back into the room. _Those_ words, just the same as he’d said them back them, like he really cared. It was too much. If it had been anything else, she might have stayed there and suffered through it but instead she fled from him.

By the time she realised she’d left at all, she was practically at the tube station. Brienne glanced back and was relieved to see he hadn’t followed after her. _Sorry, I’ll speak to you in the morning._ A text was more than he had offered her.

 _I left him there,_ she realised, _with all of them._  
  
She had left him in the lion’s den and saved herself instead. It was too much. She would’ve shamed herself if she had stayed. She had saved them both by leaving.

A man swore bloody murder at her when she walked right into him and she didn’t care; she’d barely heard him. All she wanted to do was sleep until the sun came up, she hadn’t been so tired in weeks, in months even. Her mind went to Jaime though, stuck in that house with those loathsome creatures he called family and there would be no rest for him. Guilt graced her tired form and she dropped her shoulders for bearing the weight of it.

Tywin was no Cupid, but he would ensure right enough that they stayed together as long as he breathed air. He was not a man that took disappointment lightly, and she didn’t dare imagine the consequences of such a defiant act.


	42. Chapter 42

Tywin asked Jaime to join him in the kitchen and reluctant though he was, Jaime followed.

The kitchen was full of staff and Jaime was entertained by the grandeur of it all. If his father had even _one_ person over for dinner, he would hire a whole catering staff for the night. It was such a stark contrast to the lives they’d grown up living.

People imagined he’d been weaned onto caviar and pea puree but he knew fish fingers and potato wedges as well as an Brit. They were rich but he’d fought to know normality. 

“What the hell is wrong with her?” Tywin snapped, eyes clouded with a remarkable fury.

Jaime wasn’t sure how to defend her. He only knew he wanted to. 

“I think she’s coming down with something, she’s been quiet the past couple of days and with _yesterday,_ I think she’s just tired.” The words were false and Tywin saw straight through them but he saw the honest concern and took that as truth enough. 

“Sort her out. Keep her in line. I don’t care what it takes, you keep her happy and you keep her at your side or I will make good on my threats. The party isn’t for another week, Jaime, that’s plenty of time to change the inheritance detail,” Tywin sneered.

The kitchen seemed to fall quiet and suddenly all the staff had left the room, knowing well enough when to make themselves scarce.  Contracting for Tywin Lannister was lesson enough for anybody. Jaime wasn’t so easily cowed.

“She’s not a _pet,_ ” he snapped viciously. “I’m not her _keeper_ and she’ll wherever she likes. No wonder she bloody left, if you hadn’t realised how intolerable you are to be around then let me tell you, Dad: you’re despicable and if I didn’t, in some twisted part of me, care about you, I’d be out like a shot.”

Tywin laughed. _Actually_ laughed at that. It was the first time he’d heard the unfamiliar sound, the first time he could recall at least, and it was a lot to process.

He’d been so bold, and out from nowhere it seemed. There was adrenaline in his veins and his father was actually laughing. The sound barrelled to the high ceilings and back again. It wasn’t a noise of jollity, but the spite in it was barely heard at all.

“You think-” he wheezed out, letting out a hacking cough. “You think I care what you think of me? I know I’m despicable but being despicable got me where I am today. It got me billions of pounds at my disposal and this unbearably big house and three children, two of whom might actually make something of themselves. I am a terrible bastard and I am _proud_ of it, Jaime, because good people spend their entire lives wishing they had the things I’ve taken for myself.”

 _He’s mad,_ Jaime told himself. _He’s dying and he knows it and he’s clawing at life._

“I won’t _use_ her just to keep you happy. She is not _yours_ to play with. You got what you wanted, so leave me be, won’t you? It doesn’t matter to you how she acts or who she is. You don’t even care that she’s _somebody_ , you just want a womb. You should have changed the company name to Lannister, _it’s_ your only real heir. You’ve cared more for it than us, it was always incapable of disappointing you and we three, oh we were so terribly skilled at that.”   
  
It was strange. All his life he’d imagined this. He’d dreamt at night of telling his Dad how shit he was, and he’d never found the nerve. Not a hundred drunken nights, not a hundred smacks around the back of the head, not a hundred times being told he was useless. It was only now, and perhaps it was the cancer. Tywin was weaker now, though his words were twice as sharp, and Jaime was emboldened by some power well beyond his conscious mind.

“Selwyn’s clueless. I confronted him, demanded to know if he was scheming against me, if he was stupid enough to even try but he knew nothing. He’s never known anything really and I dote upon him, the poor old fool who’s always been so terribly loyal to me. He wouldn’t lie to me, he wouldn’t have the bollocks for that, which means it’s _her._ ” 

 _He cannot know,_ Jaime assured himself. Tyrion could be the worst traitor in all the world, but he would _never_ stoop so low as to collude with his father. _His suspicions have no substance._  
  
“I have told you: _she_ is _mine_ and you will not even think of her or you will pray the cancer kills you before I can. You forget, dear father, that our fates are tied. Hurt her and I’ll ruin your company; you life’s work will sink into the soil with you and it will be nothing but a sentence in a history book one day. If _I_ am your legacy, then so is she.”

For the first time in their shared existence, Jaime saw his father struck speechless. For one fumbling, ineffable moment, Tywin Lannister was without composure.

“You forget, son, that I fathomed this. It was my thought that brought her to you and with my words, she would be gone again. Tell her to be careful. I enjoy her, but she ought be careful.” The words were _meant_ to be commanding but he was holding back a cough and they rattled in his throat.

 _You are weak,_ Jaime wanted to say. _You couldn’t hurt her if you tried, and you will not._ More than weak, he was frightened and that gave Jaime more joy than he cared to admit. There was little life left in him, and in part, he knew that he would grow only fonder of his father in death.

“Goodnight,” Jaime bid and walked away without a moment’s wait. He was not in the business of vying for his father’s approval anymore. Those days were passed.


	43. Chapter 43

Cersei wondered when her father would realise he’d backed the wrong horse. Nothing would please her more than the look on his face when he realised what a fool he’d been.

He’d dragged Jaime into the kitchen for some kind of confrontation and Selwyn had bid them goodnight shortly afterwards. She was left with only her little brother for company and she would rather have been alone.

“Aren’t they sweet?” Tyrion mooned. “He does dote on her terribly.”

It had made her nauseous in all honesty, to see her brother with such a lovesick grin. Happiness didn’t suit him, he was all sharp edges and sullen looks and sadness made a masterpiece on such a face, the same as she.

“She’s nothing but a distraction,” Cersei said. “Dad thinks she’ll keep him in line and set him up to take the business, but she could serve a better purpose than that.” 

“Cersei?”

His eyes were lit defensively. Her words implied something untoward and he found himself curious. Cunning was familiar on her face and he had grown to know the sparkle in her eye too well over the years. 

“There is much to gain, brother. Unlikely allies often make the best match and _we_ could take it all from him. He doesn’t deserve it. We two have fought our entire lives to step beyond the shadow he casts and still we cannot. Father holds the key, and when he dies, the gates will be open to our raids. We’ll take the company for our own; _Casterly_ for me and _Solitaire_ for you.”   
  
Tyrion watched her face for some sign of jest. If there was any glimmer of irony he might have let himself exhale but it appeared she was entirely genuine.

“You’re deluded, you do know that, right?” Tyrion narrowed his gaze at her and watched the way she seethed at that. In her own mind, _Casterly_ was already hers and she would not hear that it wasn’t, least of all from him.

It almost impressed him. She was more her father than either of his sons had proved to be. Cersei Lannister seemed to be Tywin in fresh form, yet wiser still and fairer on the eye. It was baffling to see the way her mind worked; the way she cooked up schemes so easily was Machiavellian. 

“I don’t even _want_ it,” Tyrion declared. “Haven’t you realised that by now? I’ve been wasting my life away in the hopes that our dear Dad might leave me alone to rot in the gutter. My efforts may be worth naught, but I won’t bring it all upon myself.”

“The misfortune of privilege,” she ground out dryly. “Being the richest man in the western world would be such a dreadful imposition, after all, I see your point. It would require someone _stronger_ to endure.”

Tyrion drank his wine in a mournful silence and imagined a world where Cersei had all the power. If he was a feebler man, he might be shaken, but he had known greater terrors than she could conceive. In all ventures, she aimed to exceed her father and yet in cruelty, she fell short somehow. 

There were months left to let it burn itself out. Tywin was going to cling on for as long as he could manage and by then, she would have found a new thing she wanted more than _Casterly._ It had been her greatest ambition since the day she was born, and yet she was wont to get bored quickly when she realised just how difficult it was going to be to get her hands on.

“Lay your traps,” he said. “I won’t blow your cover or spill your secrets, there is sport to be had here and, as any good gambler does, I will wait to lay my bet until the course is clearer. There is a game to be had here.”

The wine glass in front of her was empty for the tenth time and he wondered at the fact she still seemed sober. So tiny and yet, it seemed, hatred is a dense thing and harder to stir with such a simple thing as liquor. 

 _You won’t even bother to try,_ Cersei’s eyes said and ten years ago, Tyrion would’ve risen to the bait if only for the fun of it. A spectator’s seat was far more to his taste however.

 _She will fail. She always does, it is not in her nature to win, for then she would have nothing to complain about._ It was strange to think of her happy; he’d never seen it for more than a moment or two. Happiness came to her only in the briefest form, before she was reminded of everything she didn’t have. _I pity her,_ Tyrion thought.


	44. Chapter 44

It felt silly to be in the salon again so soon. She certainly didn’t need anything done to her hair, but it was their place. There was a camaraderie between them at that seat; things could be said that Brienne would never elsewhere find the words for.

She needed to be reminded of the real world. It was an odd dream state she’d been lingering in for days now and she needed to snap herself out of it.

Catelyn wrapped her in a motherly embrace, and it was all she required. She could’ve left right then, and she would’ve felt a thousand times better than when she’d walked in, but Catelyn was a curious kind and she wouldn’t be so easily misguided.

“What’s happened then? Has he broken your heart yet? Can I have him castrated?”

“Do you have the contacts for that?” Brienne questioned with a smirk. “I know you’re well connected but that’s a _niche_ career.”  
  
The lack of faith Catelyn had in him had never been more refreshing. Brienne was entirely aware that she’d let herself fall under his spell and there was always Cat to remind her what an idiot he could be.

It was hard to believe that only a month ago, she’d found the sight of him repulsive. _How feeble-minded I have been,_ she chided herself. The shame of having her head so easily turned by a pretty face was not lost on her.

“Don’t underestimate the things I will do for my kittens, I’ll do it myself if I can’t find a man with gall enough,” Catelyn vowed as she spread shampoo through Brienne’s hair. “What has he done?”

“Nothing, he-” Brienne hesitated. She couldn’t tell the truth, but she could find a way to make it honest. “We…you know, for the first time. It’s weird talking about this to you but you understand what I’m trying to say. It’s just changed the dynamic is all, we’re…I care more all of a sudden.”

“My love,” Cat pursed her lips earnestly. “I forget how gentle your heart is sometimes.”

 _Gentle_ was not a word often associated with Brienne. She was tough, unbearably so, and hard to understand. There was no softness to her aside from that she kept for those she loved best.

“Behind it all, he really is good. I’ve tarred your understanding of him over the years, but I fear I have been wrong. The way he _is_ now, it’s hard to imagine that any of the rest of it was real.”   
  
Her hair was clear of bubbles now but Catelyn kept her there, massaging her head lightly just for something to do as she listened. There were other customers in the salon and moving might have drawn Brienne out of that moment of sincerity.

“And what of Hunter? Have you forgiven him for that business?”   

In all honesty, she hadn’t thought of it. Jaime’s presence was an intoxicating one and she found that she struggled to think of anything but him in recent times. It was so far gone, such a distant and damaged memory that she could hardly hold it against him anymore. 

 _We were different people back then,_ she told herself. If he was still that boy and she that girl, none of this would be happening, there would be too much changed.

“I’m not sure if I forgave but it’s forgotten all the same.”

Brienne wanted to be mad at him still. To hold it against him that he stole Hunter away for a moment’s laugh, but it was hard to care. If she hadn’t realised just how little she cared for the boy in the first place, she might still be upset but it was a passing dalliance and he’d spared her, in a sense, from that realisation.

It was hard to believe she’d held onto that hurt for so long.

Cat wasn’t so quick to forgive. She remembered the tears she’d wiped away and the tired reassurances in the small hours and they were not something she’d likely forget.

They talked for a while longer, and Cat took her to the seat and took the blow-dryer to her hair. Brienne thought on Cat’s words and on Jaime’s actions and wondered when precisely she’d let herself fall so hopelessly. 

“We’re going to the theatre tomorrow,” Brienne mentioned in passing and though she didn’t comment, Catelyn was stirred by the way her eyes lit up at the thought of seeing him. She was a tired woman and she wasn’t in the business of helping heartbroken girls back to their feet anymore. She didn’t have the nerve to watch one of her girls weep for someone unworthy of her tears.

“Enjoy yourself,” and there was something alarmingly pure in the words. Brienne felt the melancholy in Cat’s tone, and it made her worry. There was no faith in Jaime and that was well enough but still, to sound so conclusive in her understanding of them unnerved Brienne.

Leaving the salon, Brienne felt fully conscious for the first time in days. It was like he’d snatched away her sensibilities with that kiss. It lingered in her memory and she hoped he was still unawares. To be with him tomorrow if he knew would surely destroy her, the awkwardness she envisioned between them tasted most unsavoury.

 _He does not know._ She willed it into truth, for if she thought it long enough, perhaps it would come to fruition and he would be just as she knew him. Nothing worried her like the thought of maintaining this ruse with some tension between them, it was already unbearable enough. 

This strange space she was caught in where she was willing it to end and praying that it didn’t was claustrophobic. Being so caged inside her own head with the thought of it, not being able to speak to a soul but him in all truth, was making the air too thick to breathe. _Have mercy on me,_ she pleaded.


	45. Chapter 45

She looked like herself again. He’d never been more thrilled to see grey slacks and a white blouse. She felt like _Brienne;_ not dressed-up Brienne, not sad Brienne, _just_ Brienne. He’d missed that.

“Evening, dear,” he quipped and kissed her cheek. “How’s your week been?" 

 _She’s forgotten,_ he thought. Every muscle in his body relaxed. She was being _far_ too normal with him and she was not a convincing actress, she would’ve given herself away at such freely offered contact.

He had feared from dinner that she had remembered but perhaps she _was_ just unwell. It was hard to tell but he could _hope_ at least. 

“Long and boring so far,” she told him as they walked into the theatre and joined the box office queue. “All I’ve done is listen to my Dad go on about work and how terribly dull it is. He’s not giving me the _best_ reasons to inherit early. How’s yours?”

“Dad? Fine, I think. I haven’t spoken to him since the dinner but he has a nurse now and she sends up daily updates. Most of them are a litany of complaints against his manners. If he’s well enough to insult the staff, he can’t be doing too badly is what I’ve surmised.”

Brienne scoffed at him. There was little logic to his conclusion; Tywin’s last dregs of energy would be spent on being cruel, if he lost the power to speak, he’d frighten people off with a harsh glare and if he couldn’t manage that, he’d simply affect an air of infuriation. 

“And you?”

“Very long and very boring. He’s dragging me to every meeting, of which there are _many_ and the entire board hate me _almost_ as much as they hate him.”   
  
The theatre was busy. It was opening night for a production she’d mentioned weeks ago, and he’d managed to get them tickets somehow. If he didn’t have all the money in the world at his disposal, she might have been surprised, but at present, all she felt was gratitude.

He’d written the name of it down in the notes of his phone and rung the theatre for tickets as soon as he’d gotten home that evening. Brienne had spoken about it like some sort of spectacle and he’d been intrigued.

They found their seats: front row of the circle and the best in the house. The two of them conversed casually as the stalls filled and eventually, the lights fell low. His gaze was shy though he was sure she couldn’t tell, she was too busy being enamoured with her surroundings.

“It’s starting!” she exclaimed gleefully.

By the intermission, he’d lost track entirely of what was happening. He’d taken to stealing glances at her whenever he was certain she wasn’t looking and when she’d shifted forward to lean on the railing, he’d decidedly watched her for the rest of the act. 

 _There’s no way she remembers,_ he decided with some confidence. If she had any recollection, she’d have said something. She was not a woman who avoided confrontation and she certainly wasn’t afraid of arguing with _him_ of all people.

Jaime hoped he was pretending well enough. He was careful not to let his attention drift to her lips when she was speaking, careful not to be too tender with his touches, but he feared his eyes would give him away. It was difficult to hide something so overwhelming.

“I’m just popping to the loo,” he declared, squeezing past her awkwardly and shuffling down the aisle.

The queue was ridiculous, and he quickly elected to wait until the play was done. Instead, his attention shifted to the ice-cream vendor and his memory was cast back to a road trip to the beach and strawberry ice cream down Brienne’s bikini top.

“One strawberry and one vanilla please,” he asked, handing over a £10 note and swallowing down his bafflement at how much he’d just spent on two tiny tubs of ice cream.

Her face when he dropped the tub into her lap was priceless. Such confusion had never been seen on her face, and he smirked at the mirthful glow that became her. She picked it up and opened the lid, bringing a spoonful to her lips.

Jaime opened his own and sniggered at the way she winced at the sight of it.

“Strawberry ice cream is an abomination and you _know_ I’m right,” Brienne said, and he couldn’t resist. He loaded the spoon and raised it up in front of her, coaxing her as one might a child to open her mouth.

“Come on, Brienne, be a sport,” he continued, lips taught with a grin.

She shook her head firmly and managed to swing her nose right into the spoon, gasping at the contact. Sucking in her cheeks, she tilted her head and glared at him.

The seats around them were filling up again and he knew the play was about to resume. Biting back his laughter, he swept his thumb over the tip of her nose and nodded smugly. Strawberry ice cream remained one of their many points of conflict, it seemed.

“Idiot,” she grumbled, turning her attention pointedly to the stage. 

The way her cheeks flushed gave her away. She wasn’t really annoyed at him and he knew it. That was _new._ Despite how well they’d been getting on, she’d still be thoroughly capable of being pissed off at him but not tonight, not over this.

When the play finished, he rushed to the bathroom before the curtain call was over. Brienne was stood outside the bathroom waiting for him when he emerged once more with an absent-minded smile.

“Ready to go?” he asked, and the way she jerked back at his voice scared him for a moment. He wanted to know for certain. If she knew, he’d find a way to justify it, but he couldn’t live in this limbo with nothing but overthinking to keep him company.

It was a warm night for April, and she didn’t _need_ the jacket that he wrapped around her shoulders, but she accepted it all the same. The walk was short to London Bridge station and the streets were quiet.

“So, this party on Friday; what shall I wear?” Jaime frowned at her, she’d never sought out his approval before. “The whole point of _this_ is to present a united front. We might as well _look_ as though we discussed it beforehand.”

“You’re the brains in this equation, remember? Wear what you like, just tell me and I’ll buy a tie that matches, I’ll be wearing the same damn suit no matter what you pick.” _I’m always going to look like I’m punching next to you, let me show you off,_ he wanted to say.

 They got to the station and he stole his jacket from around her shoulders, bidding her goodnight before making off for the southbound platform.


	46. Chapter 46

Tyrion arrived exactly on time. He wasn’t going to spend a minute more than he had to in such dreadful company, no matter how much booze there was going spare.

He’d doused himself with liquor before he left home but it hadn’t been enough.

It was already well under way when he got there, people didn’t understand the concept of turning up on time. Everyone insisted on being _early_ and it baffled him. He found a little corner in which to sit and snatched up a glass of champagne from a waiter.

For almost an hour, he managed to avoid everybody but at long last, his father appeared at his side looking paler and more gaunt than Tyrion had ever seen him.

“Excited to hand over the reins?” asked Tyrion.

His father offered a snide smile. The contempt was right there behind a thin veil of nicety.

“Don’t embarrass yourself tonight,” Tywin commanded though the words came out wirily. “Tonight is a show of strength, and as our greatest weakness, you will be hidden away. Drink as much as you like, I don’t give a flying fuck, but don’t make a spectacle.”

Tyrion wanted to laugh. Nobody paid him any attention anyway. He might’ve stripped down to his birthday suit and danced down the tables and nobody would have given him more than a passing glance. _I am invisible,_ he thought.

For the entire night, he would stick to the shadows and watch as the ladies and the gentlemen danced the night away and socialised and spoke and laid down the foundations for the empire into which they were ingraining themselves. All he would do was watch. 

 _The Herd_ had all turned up. It might have been the first time since Galladon’s funeral that they were all in one place. Even Ellaria and Oberyn had flown in from Dubai for it. This was a momentous occasion.

 “The whole Herd back together,” Mel had said to him, dropping down beside him with a glass of red wine. “Your Dad must be _furious._ ”

He remembered the day it had been born. The ten of them all running around Tywin Lannister’s house like it was a playground. _Get your herd of reprobates out of my house, Jaime._ He’d watched them leave, all of them fled to the park down the road to play there. He hadn’t followed. He hadn’t been invited.

 All his life, he’d watched as they grew up and he’d chased after their coattails and prayed they’d take him for their eleventh. No such luck, he had always been an outsider among them, invited out of obligation because he had no friends of his own.

 “To infuriating my father,” he toasted, clinking his glass against hers.

 Mel smirked at him. He wondered what she was doing with her life now. Living in some hovel with a lot of incense burning and a black cat, no doubt. She’d always been eclectic, the one that ensured their group was never seen as the _popular_ group. In fact, it seemed her presence was almost entirely rooted in the fact that she didn’t fit among them.

  _I can be like her,_ Tyrion used to think. Too young to ever be one of them. He hated it. Jaime had tried but it didn’t feel normal, he spent his entire childhood feeling like a tagalong and it’s because it was exactly that. Now they were all off living their own lives and they were cast adrift just as he was.

 “We’re all sticking around for a catch-up afterwards. Don’t know if Jaime told you yet,” she said, as though he was invited by default.

 “I’ll do my best to stay conscious,” he answered merrily, sipping from his glass.

 She wandered off to find someone more interesting to talk to and left him to his drink. He would have to slow down, he realised. There was much entertainment to be found in listening to the way they all would tease Brienne and Jaime for their romance.

From across the room, he could see them. Jaime had his arm laced at the slight curve of her waist and she towered over him magnificently. She’d worn flats to make the difference less apparent but still, she was a work of porcelain, divine in cerulean chiffon. They were quite the pair, and people might have laughed if Jaime didn’t look so wholly enamoured with her.

A humble gentleman on the arm of a goddess made mortal was no laughing matter.

He sat there all night, watching everyone interact with such overwhelming precedent. They weren’t real people, they were characters constructed for precise purposes. None of them put a toe out of line, they were all so well-rehearsed that he couldn’t bear to be among them.

Tyrion fled to the kitchen and took to refilling his own champagne glass straight from the bottles that stood in a row on the counter. For some time, he sat there watching the hirestaff mill around with canapes and hors d’oeuvres on silver trays.

Only when silence came, followed by his father’s hollow voice, did he return to the dining room to watch the speech with wonder.

“Today is the turn of an age,” Tywin began grandiosely. “ _Casterly_ passes from one Lannister to another, and this is a beginning, not an end. Businesses are not so fragile as bodies and I may be on my way out of this world but the empire we all have built is thriving and growing and stronger than ever. I am delighted to be passing the company into the hands of my son, Jaime. When he was just a boy, I told him that this all would be his one day and he didn’t believe me. I have taught him all I know, as he will teach his children, and I have never been more certain about the hands into which I entrust my greatest achievement. To _Casterly,_ the crowning glory of us all, and to Jaime Lannister, the man who will rule over it.”

Glasses were raised into the ear and cheers bounced off the high ceiling in a warming raucous.

It was Jaime’s turn and Tyrion had been watching him for the entire speech. The way he curled into Brienne’s side like she might be able to protect him, the way he watched his father timidly.

Brienne practically pushed him up to the space where Tywin had stood to speak, meeting his gaze apologetically when he found himself with a hundred pairs of eyes on him, waiting to hear him speak.

“I’m very grateful tonight,” Jaime started. “There’s a lot to be grateful for. Dad, first of all, for building all of this and keeping hold of it, and for readying me to take it. Tyrion and Cersei for trusting me to keep this ship afloat. To everybody in this room who has an interest in _Casterly,_ for keeping faith that I’m going to do my very best for all of you.”

He dipped his head shyly, as though he’d run out of words. For a moment there was a thoughtful quiet until Tywin cleared his throat pointedly.

“Brienne,” Jaime exclaimed suddenly. “You’ve been at my side through all of this and I don’t know how I would’ve coped without you. Ladies and gents, I must recommend that _all_ of you find yourself a woman quite so wonderful as mine. I can’t wait to see where life takes us, _all_ of us, and I’m excited for the things that we will do. To _Casterly,_ to the future we will forge and to the man who made it possible.”

 He fled back to Brienne’s arms, stretched up to kiss her temple and kept his eyes on only her as their audience dispersed and the party was resumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone wondering who 'The Herd' is - jaime, brienne, galladon, cersei, oberyn, ellaria, mel [melisandre], hunter [hyle], willas & victor [victarion]


	47. Chapter 47

All night, Brienne stayed within Jaime’s reach. She was there for him, for his sake. Ellaria stole her away to catch up, but she told her they would talk later. The speech had unnerved him, and it was clear that he needed her support.

 _On his arm like a good wife,_ she thought. Even as he spoke to one guest and then the next, his attention returned to her and she found herself blushing under his gaze. _He’s a marvellous actor to look at me so dearly,_ she thought.

“Want a drink?” he asked her, waiting for her nod. “Back in a second.”

She stepped out of the way and looked out over the room to see who was left to speak to. It was all so unbearably formal, and she couldn’t wait for them to all bugger off so he could celebrate for real. They would end the night with friends, and she knew how pleased he would be to have everyone back together again.

“Hello stranger.” It was Hunter, she was surprised to learn when she turned her head to face him.

His hair had grown longer, dangling loosely around his face in an unkempt manner. He looked _old_ with tired eyes and a hash of wrinkles over his cheeks, ten years older than he ought to. Behind it though, he was still the handsome boy she’d taken for a prince once.

“Hunter,” she greeted with a prompt smile. “It’s so good to see you! It’s been years!”

Before she had time to brace herself, he’d wrapped himself around her and she was buried in the overwhelming heat of his being. It was hard to shroud a woman so big as her and yet he managed it with his grand, rotund stature. He’d grown fatter than she thought possible of a man his height since she saw him last.

In his embrace, she tensed until he realised her with a broad grin.

“I’ve missed you, savage,” he said, and the old nickname sent a shiver through her. “Seems like Jaime finally got you on a leash. If he ever sets you free, give me a call, I always thought we’d make a good team.”

The smile she stretched over her face was uncomfortable. _Where the hell is Jaime?_ She hadn’t left his side all night and yet he took the initiative to desert her like this. 

 _Savage,_ she thought. It had been a running joke for years. She’d stumble in with cuts and scrapes and twigs in her hair from her excursions into the wild. Cersei had been the one to start it. _Not really a girl,_ she’d always teased, and Brienne had despised her for it. They’d all ceased when she hit fourteen, when she’d got tits and an arse and come into her face, all except him.

“Babe! I was hunting for something other than bloody wine, sorry I took so long!” Jaime butted in and she’d never been so glad to see him.

He passed her a glass of what she could only assume was whisky and wrapped his arm possessively around her waist. She stepped closer to him and revelled in the way that Hunter grimaced slightly.

“I should go and catch up with Oberyn,” Hunter said, excusing himself with a forced smile to Jaime.

The music was barely there beneath the chatter of the room, but it was _his_ party and he’d dance if we wanted. It was some unfamiliar pop song that he couldn’t say he recognised but it was a good enough excuse.

“Might I have this dance, my lady?” he asked mirthfully, stepping back and taking her free hand in his, grinning at the almost frightened way she looked at him. “If we start dancing, they might all leave. Come on, Bri!”

Brienne rolled her eyes at him, threw back her drink in one gulp and set it down on a passing waiter’s tray and he followed suit smugly. He dragged her to the middle of the room and took hold of both her hands, beginning to sway slowly from side to side.

“Jaime,” she chided, pursing her lips to keep from laughing at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

 He saw the blush rising in her cheeks and knew the embarrassment would consume her quickly. Eyes were set upon the pair of them already, so he flung his arms out and started to groove, terribly, to the beat. It was entirely inappropriate for the song and he would have to make sure the playlist was changed swiftly but he’d committed, and he was going with it.

The music was turned up slightly and he wondered what good soul was being so helpful. He suspected Ellaria or Oberyn, the two always did love to party and they couldn’t _abide_ the formalities of a Tywin Lannister get-together.

Eventually, some brave soul joined in and there was something to resemble a dance floor forming in the room. The music was changed to something vaguely more appropriate and Brienne kicked aside her shoes as the whiskey settled in her veins.

He spun her around on the smooth marble floor and she wished he would keep her there for the rest of her days. People started to leave, and she knew the night would soon be over, but she didn’t want to go. When she was at his side, she found she never wanted to leave.


	48. Chapter 48

It was barely ten o’clock when everybody left and the catering staff started to clean up. The herd all flopped around a table, with Margaery and Tyrion joining them.

Brienne took the seat next to Jaime’s and put her feet up on his lap, sipping at the dreadful wine Mel had offered her and wondering why she hadn’t rejected it. Jaime had snatched up a decanter of Highland Park and set it down in front of himself with a single tumbler.

“Let’s play a game,” Tyrion suggested, and everybody rolled their eyes. “ _Never have I ever,_ that always went down well!”

It did always go down well. Mainly because the boys loved to be scandalous and the girls loved to embarrass the boys. They were all so unashamed that it worked well; the game consisted of occasional questions with long intervals between for juicy anecdotes, normally on an explicit nature.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Oberyn cheered enthusiastically, sitting upright in his seat. “Never have I ever fucked outdoors during the day while completely sober.”

He and Ellaria both took a swig of their respective drinks and everyone else looked at them with critical glares. _Of course, they have,_ Jaime thought. They’d done _everything_ there was to do. 

“Never have I ever sucked cock,” announced Jaime easily.

All five women drank along with Oberyn and to everyone’s surprise, Willas. He swallowed thickly and smirked at the way everyone’s gaze had settled so curiously on him.

“We all get a little adventurous in our thirties,” he teased. “Never have I ever chunned in someone else’s bed.”

Jaime, Tyrion, Cersei, and Hunter all brought their drinks to their lips discretely. Cersei looked pointedly as Brienne and waited for her to bring the wine glass to her lips.

“Storytime!” Ellaria exclaimed with glee. “Bri _never_ chuns, I need to hear this!” 

His hand squeezed her calf gently where it was laid across his lap as he felt the way she had tensed. _Fucking Cersei,_ he thought, though he found himself made more curious by her reaction.

“It was one of the parties in the garage. Pretty sure it was my 15th, I shotgunned fifteen beers and was in Cersei’s bed by midnight. Woke up about an hour late and spewed my guts all over her side of the bed. Sorry about that.”

 _Her fifteenth,_ he thought. It was _that_ night.

His eyes looked across the table to Hunter briefly and every cell in his body told him to skin the bastard alive, just as he’d once threatened to. _She’d hate me,_ he told himself and turned his gaze to her again, offering her a weak smile.

The game went on and they heard every detail of the sexual exploits of Ellaria and Oberyn over the last ten years. Glasses were emptied and filled again, and Brienne was getting sleepy, he could tell.

Brienne had pushed her chair up right next to him and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. She was curled up against him and he had wrapped his arm around her shoulder, resting his cheek against her hair.

“Never have I ever been disgustingly in love,” Cersei offered up, eyes locked on her brother and his newest addition.

Ellaria and Oberyn both took great gulps smugly. Jaime squeezed Brienne’s shoulder indicatively and brought his drink to his lips. _I hate to make her lie._ Whiskey in a wine glass wasn’t the strangest sight they’d ever seen but it did look rather comical.

“Babe, do you want to go to bed? Dad said it’s fine for us to use my old room if you don’t’ want to trek back home tonight.” The words were soft, so close to her ear as though the others weren’t listening to their every breath.

She hummed her approval at the idea and moved to sit up straight. The way she wobbled made him want to laugh, he hadn’t seen her so drunk in a long time and she was quite sweet, like a deer unaccustomed to its own legs.

“Tapping out,” she mumbled apologetically and set down her glass on the table.  

“I’ll be up in a few minutes, gonna get rid of all these louts first,” he joked, pressing a kiss to her forehead and watched after her as she stood and made for the hallway, pausing behind Mel to drop a kiss at the crown of her head. “Right losers, bedtime. Go home or find a bit of floor, I don’t care but I’m tired.”

Everyone started to move slowly. Willas pulled him aside while everyone was getting their shit together. It was weird to see him; he’d aged well, and he’d made a name for himself in Los Angeles, working with the best names in Hollywood now. He was a far cry from the kid who’d been too shy to speak to the girls he liked.

“I’m proud of you, man,” he offered softly, and Jaime felt a tug in his chest. These were the people he’d grown up with, the people who had watched him go from idiotic little git to still idiotic slightly taller git. “We don’t talk anymore, and I’d like to say we’ll change that but we’re busy people and we don’t _need_ that, but you’ve done good. You’ve bagged yourself a decent girl, you’re taking the business, you’ve got everything you ever imagined for yourself.”

 _None of its real,_ he wanted to say. These people knew him best in all the world. It felt so dirty to deceive them. He had made a show of his own happiness and none of them had a clue that there was nothing to be envious of, that behind closed doors, he was just as lonely at night as all of them.

“I’m proud of you too, Will,” he answered with an unwarranted seriousness. 

The whiskey had seeped into his veins and made him bolder than he ought to be. His arms wrapped his wiry friend in an embrace, and it felt like he was a boy again, with his whole life ahead of him.

“Goodnight, dude. Don’t be a stranger. We should hang out before you go back stateside.”

Willas nodded thoughtfully and turned towards his patiently waiting sister. The two headed for the front door and followed after Cersei and the lovers. Mel was pulling on her coat and staring at her phone screen expectantly. _Uber,_ Jaime concluded.

Tyrion was still drinking without any hint of preparing to leave and Jaime decided he could trust his little brother to make sure everyone got home. He headed to the kitchen to find a pack of ibuprofen and filled two glasses with water, bracing himself against the counter and exhaling audibly. 

 _Casterly is mine,_ he thought. He’d never wanted anything less. There were a dozen things he longed for in the world and none of them were this godforsaken business. He wanted her and he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true.

His mind returned to Tyrion’s voicemail, to his bold words and the bravery they’d given him. _Idiot_ , he chided himself, _go to bed._


	49. Chapter 49

She stumbled into the bathroom and took over her makeup with a baby wipe. Mouthwash would have to do because there were no spare toothbrushes, but it was better than nothing.

Her mind was fixed on the fact that Jaime had said his room. Not Cersei’s. She wouldn’t be staying. There were plenty of free bedrooms for her to collapse in and Tywin slept like the dead, but still they were to share a bed.

After last time, she supposed he was being cautious. Smart, she though, but torturous.

Brienne thanked God that she was so drunk she would pass out no matter what happened. She wasn’t awake enough to lie all night thinking about how close he was to her, much as she might want to.

The walk to the bedroom was short but in the dark, she almost tripped. Turning on the lights was apparently beyond her inebriated comprehension, so instead she struggled and fell into the room awkwardly.

The lights were on and sat at the foot of the bed was Hunter, red faced but seemingly quite sober. He leered at her but did not move as she stepped into the room with a confused frown.

“Hunter, what are you doing here? Go home.”

His eyes were lit with something unfamiliar and she felt uncomfortable under his watch. The presence of him had sobered some and though her steps were stumbling, she wasn’t as drowsy as she had been.

“I told you we’d make a good team. I’ve always treated you better than him. Won’t you give me a chance, Bri?”

She seized up as he bolted into her space and ran his hands down the length of her arms, tenderly. Her muscles quivered at his touch. His smile was almost frightening in its sweetness.

“Go home, Hunter. I’m taken.” _Jaime, please_ , she thought. He had already saved her once tonight, once more wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

“I could treat you so much better,” he whispered, mouth hot against her ear and she braced herself to shove him off her if he tried anything. “Let me give you a good time.”

His hand went to her waist and without thinking she had him pinned against the bedroom wall. Hunter’s eyes were wide with alarm and somewhere buried in his expression, offence. If she had control of her own thoughts, she might have been amused with the fact that he could look aggrieved at her reaction.

“You should ask before you touch someone,” she hissed scathingly, pressing her hold against his broad frame harder into the wall. “I said go home.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest and she couldn’t bring herself to loosen her grip. Shocked as he was, he seemed untested by her words and she wasn’t certain he would leave if she released him.

Instead she held him there a while longer, eyes dark with a lust for violence that she’d never known before.

The bedroom door opened easily, and Jaime walked in with a beaming grin that fell quickly at the sight before him. His jaw clenched so tightly that Brienne saw the change, and her eyes flicked back and forth between him and Hunter.

“I make good on my threats, Hunter,” Jaime uttered. “Haven’t you realised that by now?”

Brienne let her hands drop and stepped back, taking no notice of the way his knees bent under the weight of him, taken unbraced. In a hot second, Jaime was at his throat and she couldn’t find the words to stop him.

His hands were around Hunter’s throat and she thought he might choke the life out of him. She wasn’t sure she would have minded if he did, but he was no killer. He didn’t have that in him but he’d be easily guided by the adrenaline.

“Jaime, leave him,” she commanded though it came out weakly, as though she was pleading with him. “He isn’t worth it.”

“I am doing this for her, not you. My words still stand; the very second, she lets me loose, you’d better start running, Hunter. I will shred your skin from your fragile little bones and cook it like pork crackling.”

He shifted his grasp to the back of Hunter’s thick neck and frogmarched him all the way to the front door in what felt like only half a dozen long strides. Jaime quite literally dropped him on the doorstep and slammed the door with a sense of finality.

Brienne was stood in the exact same spot. It had all happened so fast and she was still so terribly drunk underneath the adrenaline rush. _He was gone,_ she assured herself and tried to wrap her head around it, though to no avail.

“Brienne, get into bed,” Jaime coaxed her gently, careful not to touch her as he guided her to the right side of the bed and threw back the duvet for her to crawl beneath. “I’ll sleep in Tyrion’s room. Wake me if you need me, okay?”

She looked at him with disked eyes and tried to find words, but the whiskey had taken her tongue hostage, instead she reached for his wrist and looked at him with all the intention she could muster. He nodded and he understands, Brienne thought.

Jaime rounded the bed, taking a brief detour for the light switch, and kicked off his shoes, one then the other. He shrugged off his jacket but made no effort with his shirt or trousers, only loosing his tie slightly before settling on top of the covers and sitting with his head rested against the wall.

 _He’s afraid to share a bed with me_ , she realised and, in that moment, she could tell with unwavering certainty that the kiss had not been lost to him. He remembers and he can’t bear to be so close to me now.

“Sleep,” he whispered with an absent sense of desperation. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 _He’ll stay anyway_ , she accepted and closed her eyes to the world. _He’s too kind to abandon me in this, no matter how he thinks of me. He’ll keep me safe._


	50. Chapter 50

Brienne woke before the sun had risen. He hadn’t slept at all, instead he’d sat and watched over her and prayed she found some rest. She rolled over shyly, clinging nervously to the far edge of the bed, and looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked softly.

“Fine,” Brienne said, swallowing thickly and grimacing at the dryness of her mouth. “Thanks to you.”

 _Let her be alright,_ he pleaded, and he knew that eventually she would be. He knew that no matter how long it took, she would be alright eventually, and until then, he would be there for her.

“You seemed to have it under control,” he offered with a shy smirk. It was too soon to make light of and yet he was entirely in awe of her. Only Brienne could pin a man so big as Hunter against a wall, only she, and absolutely wasted at that.

Beneath the covers, she was still fully dressed, and it was remarkably uncomfortable. She became suddenly aware of it and at once wanted rid of the dress and wanted to wrap herself up in a hundred different layers. He was still wearing his tie, she observed and felt guilty for holding him here all night at such ill ease.

He saw the look of misdirection spill across her face and he _wanted_ to hold her. _Selfish bastard,_ he cursed him and focused his mind on her. She would want to go home, she would want to shower, she would want to be with one of the Stark women he suspected.

Jaime had thought of calling them last night but there was nothing that Brienne hated more than being the centre of attention. She would never have forgiven him if he’d shared her shame so publicly as that and that was what she felt, he knew without even hearing the words. She was a shame-ridden kind of woman and he’d always found himself saddened by the way she shrunk under the gaze of others.

“We should talk,” she declared and forced herself upright, crossing her legs under the duvet and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Somehow I feel like there’s a lot to talk about.” 

 _Later,_ he wanted to tell her. Once she was less shaken, he might be able to face her but now, her vulnerability was terrifying, and he felt a coward in her presence. “Okay.” 

“Last night was…thank you Jaime, I know you say I was in control and I _could’ve_ hurt him but you were there. You’re always there when I need you and I don’t tell you how much I appreciate that. I’m not…” she hesitated, “good with words.”

 “Brienne,” he chided. _Don’t thank me._

“No, really,” she affirmed with a timid nod. “When…you know, my birthday, that party, was that- was that the same?”   
  
He didn’t need words for that. He dropped his gaze, abashed, and bit the inside of his cheek for fear of her reaction. Jaime wanted to tell her all the truth he had to offer but she was so fragile, he feared they might break her.

Guilt filled her eyes and her face crumbled, there were tears threatening to fall but she held them at bay. She would not fall apart in front of him, not now.

“Jaime, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you _never_ tell me? I was awful to you. You let me think you spiteful all these years for saving me.”

“It would’ve hurt you to know. You thought him sweet, you _liked_ him, and I didn’t want to break your young heart. It would’ve _shattered_ you,” he released a breathy sigh. “And Galladon, God, he would’ve killed him without hesitation if he’d known. I had to protect _him_ too.”   
  
Brienne was torn right open by that. The realisation ripped through her and it was worse than what she’d known. She’d known for fear a thousand times and it was always temporary, but this guilt might never leave her. It weighed down on her and she could barely breathe beneath it. 

Tears slipped down her sallow cheeks and there was a sob rising in her throat, threatening to suffocate her if she didn’t let it out and yet she couldn’t find the courage. _He remembers the kiss,_ she reminded herself, _he feels obliged to be here. That’s what I am: an obligation._

“Don’t’ do that,” he told her, and she furrowed her brow, looking at him in wonderment. “Don’t hold your thoughts inside like that. You’ve filled yourself with dirty little secrets and you need to let them out; you’re drowning yourself in all of them. Let _someone_ in. If not me then Sansa or Catelyn or your Dad, I don’t’ care but you’re hurting yourself and Galladon would kill me if I let you carry on.” 

Jaime might’ve brought her face between his hands on another day. He might have taken hold of her hands and pleaded with her to listen to him. _She doesn’t need that_ , he reminded himself. If he knew anything, it was that a person didn’t want to be touched after that, not by _anybody._  

Her hand reached for his and she twined her fingers with his and squeezed them so tightly her knuckles whitened. Jaime startled only a little, locking his gaze with hers and urging her to speak.

“We should go,” she told him. “I want to talk but, I don’t think I could bear to face your Dad today.”

It was true. Tywin Lannister was something that a person might brace themselves for. He was not the sort of man that one wanted to see when they were feeling fragile.

She wrapped herself up in his jacket and let him guide her to the car, his fingers ghosting her shoulder blades so softly. Her head fell against the passenger seat as soon as he started driving and she realised just how exhausted she was and decided that talking could wait; she needed to rest while she was still tired enough not to ruin herself with worry.


	51. Chapter 51

He set her to bed and let her put old _Friends_ re-runs on the television. _I should go,_ he thought to himself but selfish as it felt, he wanted to be there for her.

“Lay down,” she told him as she curled up under the duvet with a smile. “We can talk later but you need to rest just as desperately as I do. I _know_ you didn’t sleep.”

Obediently, Jaime slid down on the bed until his head was on the pillow and he pressed his eyes shut. If she needed him, she’d be unafraid to stir him, he was certain of that.

He dreamt that night of Hunter and his mind was fuelled with rage. It startled him awake and he met the sunlight of the afternoon with wide eyes. 

“Alright?” Brienne asked, looking up at him for where she was laid on her side. It seemed she had been watching him as he slept and the thought made him blush a little, he gave a shy nod. “We should talk.”

Jaime wondered what there was to say now. Words were rare currency between they two and yet the _experience_ of last night had set her to talking more freely.

“I’m listening,” he uttered softly, struggling to pull himself upright in the bed but feeling in need of the security of being able to flee from her.   
  
Her breath came shakily as though she was nervous and he found himself curious. 

“I know you remember the kiss,” she stated plainly, not waiting for his reaction. “It makes _sense,_ Jaime. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about that; you needed comfort, so did I. We _still_ need it, I think, and I won’t let you think I’m not here for you, however you need me.”

The duvet fell down over his knees and he felt oddly exposed for a fully dressed man. His eyes were searching, and he found himself taken aback, he truly hadn’t thought she might remember, he truly hadn’t even considered the possibility in all seriousness.

“The whole point of _this_ was to be happy in spite of them, to flaunt it in your Dad’s face. You being miserable was never part of the deal.” Her tone fell shyly. “We never really made rules, we shouldn’t thought this out more carefully. If you want other women, have them. If you need to remember what it feels like to touch another human being, I’m not made of glass. We’ve kissed and hugged and held hands for all of them but if _you_ need that, then…well, I’m here.”

They weren’t the words he’d been expecting, far from it, so far from it in fact that he couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. She mistook it and shied away from him a little but he didn’t let her get far, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tenderly. _Please don’t be scared of me,_ he pleaded and hoped she would ease against his touch. Her heart was pounding so rapidly in her chest that he could feel it against the back of her ribcage. _Let me hold you for a brief while._

Brienne pressed tighter against him and the smell of the citrus shampoo she’d used was in his nostrils. He held her until his shoulders started to ache from the awkward angle and then he held her a minute more before letting her go.

“I have to go, Dad wants to know what the hell happened last night, apparently he received a very angry e-mail from Hunter’s Dad this morning. I’ll feed him a lie, but I have to go before it gets any harder to handle,” he explained apologetically. “Will you be okay?”

 _I don’t want to leave her,_ he thought. _She shouldn’t be alone._

“I think I’ll call Catelyn, see if she’s free. I just want to feel normal. Nothing _happened_ and I need to stop acting like it did.” He winced at her words but nodded all the same, she would have whatever it was that she needed and he would help her however he could. “Will I see you tomorrow?”   
  
The question was shy, as though she feared sounding needy, and he wanted to wrap her up all over again.

“I can, uh,” he struggled with his words. “I can come back tonight and sleep on the couch if you don’t want to be on your own. I’ll be wherever you need me. We’re _dating_ for all intents and purposes, and I’ll be the best boyfriend I can for you.”   
  
 She smiled at that and nodded enthusiastically, and he was saddened in his heart. _Men have only ever treated her like dirt,_ he realised, _and it has made her so easy to please._ She’ll settle for such a feeble man as he, and she didn’t know she was worth so much better.

“Go,” she told him. “Deal with your Dad and pack a bag for yourself. Give yourself a breather and then text me when you’re on your way. I’ll make us lasagne for dinner, if you like.”

 _Ugh, vegetable lasagne,_ he longed to tease but he held back and simply smiled at her, getting up from the bed and heading for the door. Jaime said he’d see her later and went to make amends of the emerging chaos that had come of last night. 

 _I don’t give a shit,_ Jaime thought. The world could fall to ashes for all he cared. He’d left her alone to come and deal with this mess as though any of it mattered half as much as her. The money and the diamonds and the intricate allegiances between the Hunters and the Lannisters all paled in comparison.

 _She wants me at her side though,_ he remembered and couldn’t bring himself to be sad any longer.


	52. Chapter 52

When he got to Tywin’s, he was shocked to find his brother still there.

“He’s been holed up in the library on the phone all morning,” Tyrion admitted, “and I’m not braced to face moving vehicles _quite_ yet.”   
  
Jaime left his brother to nurse his sore head and headed for the library with a sense of purpose. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible. His father wouldn’t be most pleased, but he’d have to get over it: _Casterly_ was his now.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” he yelled hoarsely as Jaime stepped into the room. 

“Hunter’s a prick. He’s always been a prick. You thrust him upon us and we all hated him and he _will not_ have anything to do with the business that _I_ run. Keep him close, build your bridges, but the second you are gone, he will follow,” Jaime declared fiercely. “Build your bridges, I am readied to burn them down again.”

Tywin looked frail. His suit hung off him loosely and the bag under his eyes were heavier still.

“You think I care?” Tywin seethed. “He’s a penny-player. Set him alight for all I care but tell me first. The _only_ thing I have ever asked of you is that you keep me in the loop with the games you play. This is your company and I’m glad you’re finally claiming it for your own. If you want him gone, he’s out. Hyle Hunter and his weasel of a father matter naught to me.”

There was a staleness in the way he looked at his son, an old sense of impatience that he’d long ago lost.

“You-” Jaime started falsely with confusion. “You really are unbearable.”

“I’m the best of them. Get used to dealing with men like me, Jaime, we are all around you. Now, is there anybody else you wish to banish from our ranks? I’d rather be prepared.”

Jaime was wont to laugh at him. It took _rather_ a lot to end up in Jaime’s bad books. Tywin didn’t have the faintest idea. It would not get back to him, not while Jaime drew breath. If there was anything in this world that Jaime could protect Brienne from, it was the unwarranted wrath of his father.

“Nobody else,” he murmured before turning to leave.

As he pulled the door closed behind him, he heard weak rattling coughs and thought nothing of them. The fool he called a father had likely smoked a half pack of cigarettes already this morning. Never had someone been more _deserving_ of their fate. 

“So, what lies did you tell him?” Tyrion mused.

The younger man was laid out on the couch with his hand rested over his forehead and a paleness to him that came only of a hangover. He really had outdone himself if _he_ was feeling the after effects.

“I don’t know _what_ you mean, brother.”

“I was still down here, last night, when you frogmarched Pencil Dick out of the house like a naughty school boy. I don’t need the details to draw the right conclusions from that,” Tyrion admitted. “Is she okay?”  
  
Jaime’s jaw twitched. Nobody should know. Not a soul should have a clue. It was _hers_ and _hers_ alone and he had hoped to keep it hidden for her.

“She’s as incomparably strong as she’s always been,” he answered honestly and there was a glimmer of admiration that he had no energy to hide.

“Have you told her yet?” Tyrion asked smugly. “Have you told her you adore her?”   
  
The way his head smacked against the sofa’s back so quickly at Jaime’s cruel swipe startled him. He blinked profusely at his brother and sat upright in dismay. 

“You think that’s what she needs? God, no wonder you can’t _keep_ a woman, you prick. She needs a _friend_ and that’s what I am. You’re nauseating,” Jaime seethed, starting to leave for fear his father might emerge.

He hated them. Every single one of them who looked at them and wondered how they were behind closed doors. Nothing consumed him like the need to keep her from that, to keep her out of their hungry sights.

The drive to his house was brief, he made an effort to be quick. There was an overwhelming urge to get back to her and he couldn’t ignore it. He showered, hot and fast, and threw on clean clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt went into a duffel bag and he dropped her a text. _Let me know once Catelyn’s left._  
  
Jaime sat down on the couch with his bag beside him, shoes and jacket already on. The tv came on to show some daytime tv show he didn’t care about but it was _something._ All he was doing was waiting to leave, ready to be there as soon as she needed him.

 _I’m all she’s got,_ he told himself, and felt selfish for thinking that what they shared was more than a mutual dependency.


	53. Chapter 53

Catelyn had turned up on the door step with a bag of satsumas and a worried smile. Brienne thought she might crumble right away under her soft gaze, but she held herself together long enough to close the door.

“Are you alright, kit?” she asked with a worried frown, dropping down onto the sofa and pulling Brienne to sit beside her “What’s gone on, then?”

“I’ve been a fool, Cat,” Brienne admitted with shame bearing down on her words. “Jaime was right all along.”

Brienne curled up tight into herself, desperate to see safe again as she had in Jaime’s embrace. Cat wasn’t the same, she was as fierce as a mother could be and she might have an unenviable way with words, but a man could ruin her with one harsh knock.

“Hunter never _liked_ me, he just _wanted_ me. That wonderful idiot was protecting me, and the responsibility fell to him again last night. Nothing happened, I- I think I’d be alright if that was all, but the sweet fool has let me hate him for _years_ for saving me and I am guilt-stricken.”

A satsuma was pressed into her hand and she released a breathy laugh. It was a thing that had come from childhood, she recalled, though she wasn’t sure exactly why. Satsumas were comfort food. 

Her nails dug into the skin of it and peeled it easily, dropping the waxy orange scraps into her lap. She popped a segment into her mouth and glanced up at Catelyn to see the merciless sympathy she was harbouring.

“He kept it from you, Brienne. He didn’t want you to know and whatever his reasons, he had them and he would never blame you for reacting the way that he seemingly wanted you to,” Catelyn reasoned. “Never mind that, are you really okay? If it hasn’t sunk in yet, it’ll take its time and I’m going nowhere. I’ll be here when you need me whether it’s in five minutes or it’s five years from now.”

Brienne swallowed and drew in a long breath as though mulling over her thoughts.

“I don’t think there’s anything to realise. I wasn’t _frightened._ Afraid perhaps of what _I_ would’ve done to him, but he was powerless. He didn’t frighten me, he never has.”   
  
It was evening already, she’d napped the day away trying to find the energy to face another person and still she was exhausted. She’d thought Catelyn might ease her woes but, in all honesty, she only made her more weary. She had decided Brienne wasn’t alright and so Brienne wasn’t _allowed_ to seem alright in her presence.

Catelyn conceded to it, doubtful though she was and sat with Brienne in a comfortable quiet as she ate her satsuma.

They watched _Antiques Roadshow_ and spoke for a while, until Catelyn realised she was doing little to help and said she’d better get going. Brienne felt guilty for feeling relief, she had hoped that Catelyn would be a reassuring presence but all she wanted was Jaime, selfish though it was.

“Call me if you need anything,” Catelyn told her sweetly. “I’m glad you’ve found someone who deserves you in some small way, though you know I’ll never judge him good enough.”   
  
A kiss to the crown of her head served as a goodbye and Brienne smiled warmly as she watched Catelyn go.

Two satsumas later, she conjured the strength to move and went to check her phone. A text from Jaime was enough to make her smile and she typed out a reply telling him to come over whenever he liked.

She found that her anxieties were eased at the mere thought of him and it panicked her. He had wormed his way into her heart so quickly and the day was coming when he no longer had need of her. He wouldn’t _abandon_ her entirely but letting herself get so comfortable was only going to break her heart.

 _Don’t fall for him, you fool,_ she chided herself, but it was too late. He had wrapped his arms around her, and she’d forgotten there was anything beyond the two of them in that moment. None of it mattered, nothing but them, and she physically ached at the prospect of losing him.

Brienne returned to the sofa and put her attention back on the television. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. _I can have him, if only for a little while,_ she told herself, _if only in a little way._  

 


	54. Chapter 54

It was getting late. He had hoped to have some time to muster the courage to speak to her but when he saw the tiredness that befell her, he couldn’t manage to think of himself for another moment.

“Hey, Bri.” He kissed her temple and flopped down onto the sofa next to her, scowling as the remote stabbed into his arse and reaching under himself to grab it. She snickered at him and snatched the remote away, changing the channel.

Jaime patted his thighs indicatively and waited for her to kick her feet up onto his lap, resting his hands on her shins as he focused his attention on _CSI: Miami._

“How was your Dad?” she asked him, careful not to let the concern seep into her tone.

“Fine, he seemed quite glad for an excuse to get rid of the idiot. He didn’t even ask, I just said I refused to work with him and that was that.” That fed Brienne’s scepticism unbelievably and she wondered if Jaime really believed it.

Nevertheless, she let his reassurances lull her to a calm, and the silence that they sat in felt gentle.

Three episodes later, her eyes were getting heavy and Jaime seemed to notice before she did. He ran his hand up the length of her calf and back again, drawing her focus to him and looking to her knowingly.

“Bedtime I think,” suggested Jaime with a soft smile.

Brienne stood up and felt the blood rush through her dizzily. She was absolutely wiped out and she wanted nothing more than to sleep, but there was another hurdle to jump before she got to that: _Jaime._

“I don’t have a spare duvet,” she realised suddenly aloud. “I didn’t even think about it- I-”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it,” he told her, smiling sleepily and kicking off his trainers.

He looked so sweet. The past couple of days, he hadn’t found time to shave so his stubble was coming through. He was wearing a green t-shirt and jogging bottoms and it was the most casual she’d seen him in a long time. The sleepiness softened his features and she couldn’t help but melt at the sight of him.

 “Jaime, come to bed,” Brienne said, and the doubtful way he looked up at her was shattering. ”I trust you.”

 She bit her lip at her boldness. They’d shared a bed before, it wasn’t that, but she had never said the words before, it had always just _happened._ She had summoned him here, away from his designer divan bed to keep her company, she wouldn’t resign him to the couch as well.

“Okay,” mumbled Jaime, rising to his feet and entering her space. His hand lifted to her forehead and he ran his thumb over the space between her eyebrows, flattening the frown there. “Don’t do that so much, you’ll get wrinkles.”

 The television falls to silence in the background and she notices the remote in his other hand at once. Her nose crinkles under the knuckles that brush against the bridge of it and he drops his hand away.

In that moment she wants to kiss him, to refresh the memory how lips felt, and she might have found the courage if he hadn’t moved away so quickly. He crossed to the kitchenette and filled two glasses with water, carrying them towards her bedroom in an unbearably domestic manner.

“I’ll just go and change,” he announced, and it reminded her that she was still in her pyjamas. She didn’t care but she’d entirely forgotten just how bare she was in front of him, a ragged t-shirt that fell to mid-thigh and booty shorts that couldn’t even be seen. Shyly, she climbed into the left side and set her phone on the bedside table to charge.

She slid down beneath the covers and tried to make herself comfortable, thoughts lingering on the morning in Donington where she’d woken up with her head on his shoulder.

Jaime returned in the same t-shirt and pyjama bottoms and she smirked at him. They were too short for him and she could tell they had been living in the bottom of his wardrobe for years. He didn’t _wear_ pyjamas and she knew it, but he’d tried, for modesty’s sake.

“Something amusing?”

The light switch was flicked, and the room dimmed to the faintest illumination of the moon through the thin nets. He dropped his bag down at the side of the bed and sat down on the edge of it.

 _He’s nervous,_ Brienne thought. and she found it quite adorable. It wasn’t anything worse than that, she could tell by the way the corners of his mouth hinted so slightly at a smile and she was glad she’d pulled down the covers on his side while he was changing.

“Get in! I’m tired,” she grumbled childishly, pouting at him in the dark as though he, with his old man vision, would be able to make it out in the low light.   
  
Jaime snickered and laid down, stretching out his arm and coaxing her towards him. She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder and crossed her arm over his chest. She fell asleep quickly and he relaxed under the comfortable weight of her, shutting his eyes and thanking God for giving him this.

He dreamt of nights like those that went on forever, where they’d wake wrapped around each other as though they’d played a game of Twister in their sleep. Her hair was cut shorter and she was bare beneath the fleece under which they were sleeping, it wasn’t _them_ and yet it was. He dreamt of worlds where she might’ve loved him, of a parallel universe where Galladon had lived to be Jaime’s best man and had made a brilliant speech at the wedding.

He dreamt all night but when he woke to the early morning light, he was surprised to find reality was even sweeter than his mind’s creations.


	55. Chapter 55

Myrcella wasn’t sure what was wrong with her mother but she knew there was something. She had sent her and Tommen home early from the party with Gregor and insisted they didn’t wait up for her, and she’d come back in the small hours a little tipsy. 

It had all seemed so normal if not for the fact she’d been so strange with it. The Starks had been there, all except Sansa and Robb who had been too busy to attend it seemed. Arya had arrived in a chic gown with heels that put her half a head above Myrcella and Cersei had looked almost offended at the sight of the girl.

“You have training at 8, you should go home,” Cersei had said and told Tommen to get his jacket. “I have to stay a while longer but Gregor will take you both. Make sure your brother goes straight to bed and doesn’t stay up on his Xbox all night for me, sweetheart.”

“Mum,” she’d whined though she went easily enough.

At training in the morning, she envied the tiredness that Arya exhibited. She could’ve stayed. It would’ve been fine. Yet her Mum insisted on making her miserable for nothing.

Arya had made a joke about the kids all going home early. She had to follow her Dad around all night and it was terribly boring, she said, but there had been lots of champagne and that had made it more bearable.

Coach Jory was less than pleased when he overheard her and send her to run ten laps at the end of practice which improved Myrcella’s mood just a little. Her Mum came to pick her up and she was wearing an obscenely large pair of sunglasses that failed to hide her hangover.

“Morning,” she chirped gleefully and found herself pleased to watch her mother grimace at the noise. “How was last night?”

She made no move to drive. Instead she braced herself against the steering wheel and turned her head to face her daughter with a forced smile.

“Long, your uncles insisted I stay to catch up with our childhood friends and it was dreadful so I got very drunk and now, my head is pounding. Catelyn Stark tried to small talk with me and I almost murdered her because she would not shut up about how good Arya was getting at riding. I have never been so sick of hearing that girl’s name.” 

Myrcella paled at her mother’s tone. She’d never seen so infuriated at anybody except Robert and that was always entirely validated. This was some fresh hell burning in her mother’s gut and she found herself shaken. 

“She’s a decent rider, and what?” Myrcella answered. “It’s five events and she’s good at one of them. She’s no threat and her mother will have to stop talking long enough to watch me beat her daughter out of contention at worlds’.” 

Cersei’s palm against her cheek was unexpected. Her jaw dropped and colour rose against her pale skin to showcase her surprise. They sat, frozen in time, staring at each other in dismay until Cersei realised what she’d done. 

“Myrcy, I’m sorry,” she cooed with the same tone she’d been using since they were children, the tone that had never convinced them of anything. “Myrcella.”

She looked at her mother with fury brewing in her gaze. _Never let anyone lay a hand on you,_ her mother had taught her and there was irony in just how quickly she’d learnt that lesson.

“I’m staying at Arianne’s tonight. Don’t’ contact me unless somebody died,” she bit out, opening the car door and stepping out. “You have taught me many lessons, and I was listening.”

Her mother’s eyes widened in graceless shock. Cersei had never looked so dismayed in all Myrcella’s life. Genuine regret could be seen, if a person squinted their eyes and knew what they were looking for. Cersei Lannister regretted something and that was a momentous occasion in and of itself.

She did not glance back to her mother as she crossed the carpark and slipped into the passenger seat of Doran Martell’s car, apologising as she startled him. They would let her stay, she knew they would. Arianne had been telling her parents horror stories of her mother for years and they’d be more than happy to play the saviours.

Emboldened, she turned her head and offered her mother a steely glare as she drove past. Never had she felt such power over her mother, never had she particularly yearned for it but in this.

 _Never take your superiority for granted,_ she could hear her saying. All that ambition, all that determination to be the best she could be and rooted in a need to prove the world wrong. She’d been so blind and finally, quite literally, she’d had some sense slapped into her.

“Is it alright if I stay at yours tonight, Doran?” she asked, struggling to ignore the sting of her cheek and the way it threatened to make her eyes water.

“Of course, little star.” A warm smile spread over his face and she wondered why she couldn’t have had parents like Arianne’s. _Normal_ parents.   

The war she had waged with her mother in a dozen short strides was well underway and she was intrigued to watch the fallout. She had watched her Mum bring down countless enemies but this was new territory: she could not ruin Myrcy without ruining herself.


	56. Chapter 56

When Jaime saw the missed call from Cersei, he knew exactly what I meant. They hadn’t spoken in three weeks and she was too stubborn to call him about anything else.

“Bri,” he called into the bathroom. “I need to go to the hospital! It’s Dad! I’ll call you later, okay?”

She yanked open the door and poked her head around suddenly. Wet hair and bare shoulders told him she was fresh out of the shower, yet her focus was entirely his in that moment.

“Do you want me to come? I can ready in two minutes,” she shoved the door to and spoke through it. “Let me throw some clothes on and we can go right now. Who told you?”

 _Stay here,_ he wanted to tell her. _I don’t want to make you a part of this._ She already was though, that was the terrible thing. She’d been roped into this awful scheme and now she was bound up tightly with him in the mess he’d made of things.

“Cersei rang,” he answered, pulling a bomber jacket around his shoulders and checking the keys were in his pocket. “He’s at the Royal again.”   
  
This day had been a long time coming. The nurse had made them aware of how quickly he was deteriorating, it had only been a matter of time and with every puff of tobacco he so defiantly breathed, the time drew nearer.

Brienne emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed now with a comb halfway through her hair and one sock on. She looked so precious that he couldn’t help himself, he grabbed her around the waist as she fumbled in her sock drawer and nestled his nose into her damp hair.

“I thought we were rushing,” she argued as he squeezed her tighter. “Let me turn around then!”

He loosed his grip just enough for her to shift in his arms and set her arms about his waist. They’d grown so tactile in these past weeks, _living_ together for all intents and purposes, and yet this felt important. They were tactile in convenience, they held hands if their hands happened to be in close proximity and they cuddled in bed and took every hello and goodbye as an excuse to kiss her cheek, but this was so undeniably intentional.

After a minute, he let her go and she smiled at him sweetly as she pulled an odd sock on.

“It’s going to be alright,” she told him, and he _believed_ the words fresh from her lips. “You’ve prepared yourselves for this, all three of you. 

She threw her hair back with a clip and slipped on a pair of shoes. _Even flustered, she managed to look put together,_ Jaime observed and wondered how she managed it with such ease.

The drive was agonising. Traffic was even worse than usual which, when it came to the city centre, meant carnage. They should’ve taken public transport but Jaime hated it with such a passion that it wasn’t worth the argument.

Frustration charged him and he honked the horn at half a dozen innocent commuters before she wrapped her hand over his atop the gearstick and looked at him with eyes that said everything he needed to hear. 

When they finally got there, Tyrion was the first to greet them and he was halfway to a hospital bed himself if the way he stumbled was anything to go by. Cersei was arguing with a mouse-like nurse and demanding that they be given access to their father. He was in a CT scan, Tyrion told them, and Jaime couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Cersei’s flair for the dramatic.

“I should text my Dad,” Brienne mumbled, pulling out her phone and typing out a message. “I’ll tell him not to come but he should _know_ at least.”   
  
“Tell him to come,” Jaime encouraged. “Dad likes him far better than any of us. He’ll want him here.”   
  
The four of them sat there. Or rather, the three of them sat there and Cersei paced mindlessly up and down, yelling at anyone who she decided was being unhelpful. They sat there until Dr Jarvis emerged calling Tywin’s name.

“Go straight through to room 29,” he told them. One look at the lot of them told him they didn’t need to be _told_ he was dying.

Jaime was startled by the sight of him. Tywin Lannister had never been _properly_ sick a day in his life. He’d had the flu and he’d lost weight and he’d become barely than bones in his old age, but this was something more than that. There was a tube up his left nostril and his hospital gown was deckled with blood. He looked _weak._

The way Cersei looked at him was priceless. Her shame was unconcealable. _Ashamed of him for showing vulnerability,_ Jaime thought and wondered what had _happened_ to her that hardened her so harshly to the world. _Everything,_ he reminded himself.   
  
“I know,” Tywin gasped out determinedly. “I look like I’m already dead. Sorry to disappoint but I’ve got long enough to make sure everything is settled first. Brienne, is your father coming?”   
  
“He’s on his way,” she answered shyly, relief flooding her as Jaime reached for her hand and snatched the feeling that she shouldn’t be there from her before her mind even had time enough to process it.

 _Jaime wants me here,_ she told herself and all thoughts of leaving them to their grief were gone from her. It was unbearable to watch Tywin judge them all so and yet she remained. He needed her so she would do the best she could for him.

When her Dad turned up, she was pleased to have the spotlight off her for a second. Tywin had sat there telling them what life would be like with him gone, the things they would have to do for themselves and the truths they would have to face, and she wanted to tell him to shut up and let his children grieve.

They three were grieving him in their own separate ways. Cersei for the company she’d never have. Tyrion for the father had never known. Jaime for the expectations he had never met. Brienne, quite selfishly, was grieving for Jaime. This meant the end of them and she had known it, she had hoped they could stay as they were for a while in their own strange bubble of reality where they were happy in their own small way.

Tywin was set to die, and with him went any hope of Jaime’s kind heart.


	57. Chapter 57

She stepped out to get coffee for all of them from the Lavazza machine in the corridor. A few minutes to herself was all she needed to get through the next however long it took.

Solitude was not in her cards however, as Tyrion tottered up beside her with a hipflask in hand. She worried for him, he had nothing to keep him in line; no job, no girl, no children. He was cast adrift and there was nothing for him.

“You should slow down,” she told him shyly. “Your Dad’s gonna cling on as long as he can and you’re gonna have to stay awake up until then. I thought most people got drunk _afterwards_ , anyway.”   
  
“It’s remarkable,” he started, “the way my father continues to make himself the centre of attention in everything he does. He couldn’t go off and die quietly on a hill somewhere, he couldn’t go easily in his sleep, he had to gather us all around his hospital bed and literally watch him die. I’ve never met such an attention whore.”   
  
He slurred his words just slightly, leaning heavily against the coffee machine as it poured a flat white into a styrofoam cup.

Brienne wondered what would come of him once his father was dead. Would he excommunicate himself entirely from the family and leave them all to rot? Would be stay in Jaime’s good graces just enough to ensure cash flow for the rest of his life? Would he finally sort himself out, perhaps?

“It’ll be over soon,” she pointed out and found herself taken aback by the coarse laugh that ripped through him.

 “That _almost_ sounded like excitement!” Tyrion exclaimed. ”I don’t blame you, I can’t wait either but I never thought _you_ would admit it so freely. I always thought you were so terribly tame, but it seems my brother has coaxed you from your shell.”

He was so nasty sometimes that she wondered how he was bred of the same blood as Jaime. In all truth, she wondered the same thing of Cersei, but she’d always been _so_ bad. Brienne knew what it was to be on Cersei’s good side and if the fates hadn’t stolen her first child and her mother and her marriage and then, at long last, the only thing she’d thought she might have counted on…. if they hadn’t taken so much, she might’ve been good.

“Aren’t you even slightly sad?” she asked in genuine bafflement.  
  
“Oh Brienne,” he cooed.” You always were the soft-hearted one. My brother is the only one who found the stamina required for loving my father. Call me terrible or heartless or whatever you like but he is a rather unlovable man. Jaime committed though, he decided one day that he would love our father and he’s never thought of stopping, that’s just how his heart works. He can’t switch those feelings off, not like cold bastards like me can.”

His words were unbearably true, not matter how drunken they were. She pressed the button on the machine a second time and moved one cup aside for another. Her heart was aching for Jaime, with his tender heart that couldn’t find it in him to give up on his Dad even now. He would grieve and selfishly, she hoped he needed her. _Let me be there for you,_ she wanted to say to him, but she had not the nerve for that.

“I’d say most of us are pretty incapable of that,” she admitted, picking up a cup of coffee and sipping it mournfully. “God, I forgot how bad hospital coffee is.”   
  
“Stick to the strong stuff,” he said as though it were a lesson she should take to heart. “You can’t leave him now, Brienne. He’s going to be sad and he’s going to try and hide himself away from everybody and you can’t let him. You’re the only one in the world who’s actually deserving of his love, so keep a hold of it.”

Brienne blushed awkwardly. _If only he knew,_ she found herself thinking. The way he would laugh, the japes he would make, all because she was fool enough to think she could evade his charms and be his friend.

“I’ll not desert him,” she told Tyrion and she knew she’d keep her end of the bargain, she would stay with him for as long as he let her, in whatever capacity. Tywin was dying and Jaime was going to have his heart a little broken whether he liked it or not.

Tyrion took a swig from his flask and reached out for two of the cups.

 _Not the quick break I was hoping for,_ Brienne thought, and prayed for an excuse to actually take a minute to herself before the time came. It was _too_ much and she needed to bolster herself for it. She wanted to be strong for him and she _would be,_ but she needed a minute to be fragile first.


	58. Chapter 58

Tywin asked for a minute with his children and it struck the fear of God into all three of them. He was going to murder them, they’d all decided. They were going to die at the hands of their own father, at his deathbed.

“I’m not a pleasant man, and if you ever thought I was, you weren’t paying attention.” Tywin commenced. “You’re my children and you’re all I really _have_ to leave in this world and there’s something in that. You three represent all I’ve done, everything I’ve worked for, and I’m _proud_ of what I’ve made.”

 _Not proud of me,_ thought Jaime. It was very explicit in the way he had said. _He is proud of what we represent, not what we really are._  

Tywin stretched uncomfortably to the bedside cabinet and snatched up a small box that was sat there and furled his fingers around it possessively. Jaime knew what it was; that box had been shown to him a dozen times in his life, a subtle reminder of what he was risking. 

“These,” he presented the box, eyes locked on Jaime’s as he lifted it up between them. “are yours now. I am _giving_ them to you because I want you to know that I _believe_ you are capable of succeeding in the running of this company. You have no excuse, no get out clause, I have entrusted my life’s work to you and if you let it wither away, I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”   
  
The room was cold, and Jaime wondered at the fact they didn’t worry about pneumonia. _I don’t doubt it,_ he thought and knew that his father wouldn’t hesitate to make his life as miserable as any spirit could if he didn’t protect _Casterly_ like his firstborn child.

“Don’t worry, Dad, you don’t need to haunt him. I’ll murder him myself and you can go for blows in the next life,” Cersei sneered and ignored the way her father glared at her. “Can I go? There’s evidently no reason at all for me to be here and watching you die is rather morbid afternoon activity.”

 _Shut up_ , Jaime wanted to snap at her. None of them _wanted_ to be there and she had no more right to complain than anybody else in the room. Only she would make such a moment about her, it was truly a talent to _always_ claim the spotlight no matter what was happening. That was Cersei to a t: _unbearably talented._

It was strange to think this was the last time the four of them would be together. All of the Lannisters in one room for the final time, and when he was dead, they’d be bound only in business. _Casterly_ would hold them together as their father always had.  

“One last thing – then you can all go and live your lives and leave it to the soil to swallow me up,” Tywin breathed out and it was clear to all of them that he was struggling. “Stop bickering. I always let you fight as much as you wanted because I was there to keep you from killing each other, to keep you from getting killed, but I’ll be gone. I’ll be gone and you can’t spend the rest of your lives at each other’s throat. You might be disappointing, but you’re the best the world has to offer and I’m not letting you ruin each other while the rest of the world sits and watches.”

 _Disappointing,_ Jaime heard and the rest of the sentence didn’t matter. He’d known. He’d _always_ known it but he didn’t remember the last time he’d heard it from his father’s lips. It stung.

He’d given up _everything._ His career, his dreams, his happiness, all of it had meant nothing because his father had asked him to leave it behind. He knew vying for his father’s approval was a pointless exercise and yet he’d played the game his entire life. 

“Without you here to pit us against each other, we’ll have no _reason_ to hate each other,” Tyrion drawled with a laugh. “I’m sure we’ll manage anyhow but, it’s quite ridiculous to think of. A world where there’s no _reason_ for we three to be at war.”   
  
_Casterly still stands,_ Jaime wanted to point out. While it was in one piece, Cersei was never stop clawing at it. Not that it mattered, he didn’t care if she tore it to shreds.

“You can go,” Tywin bit out.   
  
The vitriol in his tone was impressively conjured. He was too weak to sound threatening or dangerous but cruel… he could manage cruel. 

Cersei was the first to go, she mumbled a farewell and fled as quick as her legs would carry her. Tyrion made some scathing remark about how karma comes in the finest of forms and stumbled away drunkenly. The last of them remained however, looking at his father with an unconcealable pity.

“I said go,” Tywin ground out, looking at his son with contempt. “I don’t need your pity. Leave me to die in peace.”

“Rest in peace, Dad,” Jaime said and turned to leave.

He took the seat next to Brienne in the corridor, took her hand in his and made an anxious silence for them to sit in. He wouldn’t _leave,_ not completely, but the old bastard could have his space.

For two long and trailing hours, they sat there in the quiet and watched as people passed with relief or heartbreak spread across their faces like paint. If only it was so straightforward as that, instead he was caught between the two in an unbearable limbo. Waiting for one’s father to die is a bizarre and uncomfortable experience that Jaime wouldn’t recommend.

“He’s gone,” the nurse announced, and the apologetic lilt made his jaw twitch. He longed to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel _anything_ but the only thing that got through to him was Brienne’s hand on his shoulder, burning through the thin cotton of his t-shirt and reminding him that it wasn’t _him_ who’d died.

It was finally over, and he went down like a lead balloon. He realised he’d been forcing himself to carry on for so long that now he had the chance, he was ready to collapse. So, he did, he buried himself in her arms, but no tears came. This wasn’t sadness, it was fatigue in its purest form.

“Let’s go home,” Brienne mumbled against his neck.


	59. Chapter 59

Brienne was so relieved when he came back to hers. He collapsed onto the bed and slept for the best part of three days and she’d never been so happy to have him in her bed. _When did he worm his way into my heart?_  
  
In those days of caring for him the best she could, she let herself think on that. Was it in Donington? _Before that._ There was no moment in her mind where suddenly she loved him, but she did. She loved him and she was furious with herself for it.

“I need to get up,” Jaime declared. “It’s been almost a week. Your Dad’s looked after the company but it’s mine now. The funeral is all sorted, he did it all himself so we couldn’t make a mockery of it but…there’s so much to do. I need to show the stakeholders that I’m serious.”  
  
He was trying to be brave and it was heart-breaking to watch.  The way he shrugged on real clothes for the first time in days, the way he shoved documents into a briefcase that looked far too similar to his father’s, it all made him look like a boy playing at adulthood.

Jaime had dragged himself to the office for the entire day and sat in half a dozen meetings, longing for his freedom. Brienne busied herself with other things to keep from thinking of it; she did three loads of laundry and she cleaned the bathroom and she went to the gym for the first time since Tywin had passed. 

“I’m home!” he called as just past five, and she bit back a smile. _Never go anywhere else,_ she prayed.   
  
She felt him pressed against the back of her at the sin before she had a chance to turn around. He pecked the spot behind her ear and breathed in the scent of her freshly washed hair. _He’s obsessed with my bloody shampoo,_ Brienne thought.

“How was it?”   
  
“Terribly boring,” he answered. “But I survived, and it’s done now. What’s for dinner?”   
  
  _That’s Jaime._ For days, he’d been a shell of himself and she’d wondered when she’d get him back but here, he was in front of her. Living, breathing Jaime Lannister thinking about his next meal as if there was nothing more important in the world. Stood in her bathroom, hands wrapped around her torso, chin rested on her shoulder.

“Pasta, I should think. You want tomato sauce or cheese?”   
  
“Stupid question,” he pointed out as he let her go and headed for the kitchenette to start _helping._ Brienne hurried after him to prevent any more _help_ occurring before the apartment was ablaze.

Ever since Galladon called her at 3am saying his dorm was on fire because Jaime wanted pizza after a night out, she’d been frightened of his mere presence in a kitchen.

He pouted sarcastically at the way she snatched the penne out of his hand and smirked at him. _Not in my kitchen,_ she had said the first time he got up to make himself toast for breakfast. 

“Go and get changed,” she ordered and started cooking as he slinked to the bedroom like a sullen child. 

Fifteen minutes later, she dished up two plates of cheesy tomato pasta and wondered when she’d agreed to living with a literal child. She’d tried to give him bolognese one night and he’d frowned at her and gone to get the grated cheddar from the fridge.   
  
He picked up his fork and started eating greedily.

“The funeral’s on Tuesday, I need to buy a suit,” he told her. “I called Tyrion and we’re going into the city tomorrow to check out some options.”

Brienne couldn’t help but smile at that. She had been so worried that the youngest Lannister would find a ditch to fall into and stay there the rest of his life without his father to drag him out of it. He had Jaime to lean on.

 _He’s coping._ Everyone had expected him to fall apart if only briefly. Cersei had thought it would be her chance to strike. Selwyn had braced himself to take control of the company while he regained control of himself. Brienne had been prepared to stay with him through it. Nobody had imagined the ease with which he would navigate his grief.

“I’m just going to wear the old dress, if you don’t object?” By the _old dress,_ he knew exactly what she meant. It was the dress she’d worn to Galladon’s funeral and had never managed to throw away. It was a simple black shift and looking back, he realised how ashamedly good it looked on her. 

Jaime smiled at her and nodded. Brienne wondered why she’d even asked; he didn’t care what she was wearing and yet she cared what he thought anyway. His father was dead and she was worrying about getting his approval on a dress. She felt a selfish fool.

 “Do you wanna watch something tonight?”   
  
“Does something mean _Sons of Anarchy?_ Because no.” 

He was obsessed with the bloody show and she couldn’t get her head around it. Since he’d started staying here every night, she’d been forced through more episodes than she cared to admit and still, she had no clue what was going on. His taste in television was questionable.

“Fine, you pick then,” he conceded, shoving the last of his pasta into his mouth messily and swiping at the sauce with the back of his hand.

Jaime did the dishes while Brienne scrolled through Netflix and eventually settled on _Black Mirror_ because she wanted to watch him squirm. _It sounded weird so I passed,_ he’d told her and she’d laughed at him. 

He sat down and an hour later, he was looking at her like she’d just shown him something far worse. _The Prime Minister,_ he had said with a wince and she had laughed at him manically for that. 

When he woke the next morning, he complained he’d dreamt of pigs and vowed to never let her choose again. _He’s Jaime,_ she reassured herself as he grinned and wondered how she’d ever lost sight of him in his sadness.


	60. Chapter 60

Margaery had asked her to meet for coffee and when she’d apologised and said she was busy, Sansa had snatched up the phone and told her to be there in twenty minutes.

Now she was sat in Starbucks with the pair of them and they were looking at her with their big sad eyes and she hated it.

“How’s he doing?” Sansa asked with the shy beginnings of a smile.

“Unbelievably well,” Brienne admitted. “I expected him to take longer but he _seems_ alright now. He’s back at work already.” 

“Is he seeing you a lot? He’s not isolating himself, is he?” Margaery questioned. 

Brienne sipped her latte thoughtfully and wondered if he might be pretending. He’d always been convincing enough in his lies, but he would’ve cracked by now. They were barely apart, he had no time away from her to be broken. There was no space for secrets in such close quarters. 

“He’s been staying at mine,” she admitted shyly. The blush that rose in her cheeks set a smirk upon Margaery’s face.

“I would like to take this opportunity to humbly say I told you so, darling,” she declared, snapping her head around to face Sansa with a bashful grin. “You owe me a bottle of Chardonnay and I would like to redeem it at your earliest convenience.”

 _Jaime would laugh at that._ They’d said that first night that Galladon would be running a book on them and…someone was. Their silly little lives where the simplest things were the greatest entertainment, she thanked God for such easy living.

“You-” Sansa started falsely, keening back in her seat with wide eyes. “you’re _living_ together? For what, a week now? That’s- Brienne!”   
  
“About a month actually,” Brienne bit her lip, turning aside her gaze.

She couldn’t bear their joy. It was so falsely rooted. She longed so desperately for it to be real and their happiness felt like the end of a gameshow and they’re saying _this is what you could have won!_ Sansa’s rueful smile would be enough to tear her in two.   
  
Her phone started ringing in her pocket and she had never been so grateful for anything. Pulling it out, she winced apologetically at the couple and brought it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Bri, where are you?” Jaime asked and his tone sounded oddly eager. “Brienne?” 

“Starbucks with the girls. What’s happened?” she asked and the worry seeped into her voice almost accidentally. 

“I booked a table at that restaurant! You know the dark one in Farringdon? We’re eating at 7, alright?”

Her eyes rose to Sansa’s and the younger woman was looking at her with a sense of anticipation. She furrowed her brow and wondered what in God’s name had possessed him but agreed all the same and said she’d be back soon to change.

 “Got a date, Brienne?” The Tyrell woman teased.

“It’s not-” she blushed and caught herself. “It’s nothing special. Tywin’s death has complicated things, we’re not- I don’t know what’s going on with us.”

It had seemed logical. Plant the seed of doubt in their minds so when the time came, the breakup was less of a surprise. The last thing they wanted was to draw attention to it, to make people suspect anything at all, but the way Margaery’s face curled up in a grin told her she’d been wrong to do it.

“Well it didn’t seem complicated at the party,” she chided. “I have two fully functioning eyes and if my girlfriend weren’t within reach, I’d be sure to tell you where they lingered all night.” 

A small grunt of pain came from the back of her throat as Sansa kicked her beneath the table. They were so settled that it baffled her. Brienne could never imagine being so at ease with anybody. _Nobody but him._  
  
“Goodbye Brienne,” Sansa hinted. “Have a lovely evening. We’ll see you at the funeral, won’t we, dear?”

Margaery stretched a smile across her face and tried not to laugh. She left them there and headed home, wondering at Jaime’s motivations. _A distraction,_ she suspected. The funeral was only two days away and he was likely dreading having his grief put out for show.

She threw on slacks and a blouse and waited for him to get back. He walked through the door with about twenty minutes before they needed to leave again. He had a _Moss Bros_ bag in one hand and a Union Jack umbrella in the other.

“It’s pissing it down,” he complained, and she shook his head like a drenched dog all over the living room carpet.  “Right, give me two minutes to get changed and we’ll go. I’m driving because there isn’t a rat’s chance that I’m facing the tube when everyone’s sopping wet and miserable.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at what a drama queen he was and waited patiently in the living room for him to change. When he stepped out, she had to bite her lip. The rain had slicked his hair back and he looked as good as he had ten years ago all of a sudden. _Get a grip,_ she chided herself and reached for the door handle.

They ate in the pitch black and his hand stayed on top of hers over the table the entire time. Together they struggled somewhat to eat without the use of their knives but neither of them was going to be the one to move their hand away, _she_ certainly wasn’t.   
  
When dessert came, she startled when she felt the spoon at her lips. Without her senses, she was relying on him not to knock it down her white chiffon blouse, and he was dreadfully clumsy. Somehow, he managed it, and the pair of them found a strange symbiosis in feeding one another chocolate mousse, a spoon each in turn until it clinked against the porcelain base of the bowl.

His lips met hers warmly across the table and she couldn’t muster any semblance of shock. It felt so unbearably normal between the two of them. Brief and sweet and joyfully normal, and a reminder of just little time she had left with him. They had fallen into this so easily and they would tumble straight back out of it once the funeral was done and their lives recommenced.  
  
It wasn’t the first time. It was unspoken between them. This thing they both needed and yet couldn’t admit to, this longing for another person. _My longing for him, his longing for anybody at all._  
  
That night in bed, she curled up next to him and made a fist in the cotton of his t-shirt, clinging on for dear life and begging for a miracle. _Make him stay,_ she wanted to ask and yet she knew it was beyond the will of the fates somehow.

 _He needs someone better than me,_ she reminded herself, _but perhaps he doesn’t want her. This is so easy, so straightforward, he could be content if not quite happy. But he deserves to be happy, I cannot keep him from that._


	61. Chapter 61

The morning of the funeral, Jaime shrugged on his suit jacket and braced himself for the weighty looks of pity he would face all day. Every single person who saw him knew he was the only one bearing any real sadness for his father, and all that grief proved to be a heavy load on one man’s shoulders.

Cersei would stir up drama all day and Tyrion would collapse in a corner somewhere and _he_ would be the only one left with any claim to his foul mood.

“Are you ready to go?” Brienne asked softly, poking her head around the bedroom door, her face dropping slightly at the sight of him sat at the foot of the bed looking hopeless.

She sat beside him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and they stayed there for a minute or two while he better prepared himself for the day ahead. _At least I’ll have her,_ he reminded himself, and wondered how long they had left before the world came to snatch this forged happiness away.

“We should head out,” he mumbled unenthusiastically and the pair of them set off for the church.

Tywin Lannister was an Anglican. By that, he simply meant that he’d been christened into the church and it’s what he put on the census. He was, _by no means,_ religious but he was covering his bases he said because _‘it’s the most reasonable among them and I don’t want to end up at the pearly gates with no invite to the party’._

It felt bizarre to be in a church for the first time in so long. He’d never _liked_ church. His mother used to make him go but when she’d died, he’d resorted to only going when it was most pertinent. He hadn’t been inside a chapel since Galladon’s funeral.

Throughout the entire service, he sat there in an absent-minded state wanting it to be over already. He listened to Selwyn conjure kind words about a dreadful man and wondered if anybody in the room believed a word of it. He listened to the apologies of a hundred strangers at the door, and at the graveside, he listened to the vicar say the words. _Ashes to ashes, dust to dust_ …but he wasn’t dust. He was a body in a box being lowered to the bottom of a six-foot pit and it felt so sordidly terrene.

There was still the wake to happen before he could escape all of them and he was already sick of their sad little faces. Morbidity was dull when it was genuine, when it was fake, it fell nothing short of hideous.

“We’ll meet you over there,” Brienne mumbled to Tyrion and watched as the black shroud of mourners walked off towards the carpark.

He wanted to be sad. He wanted it to be so straightforward as that. Instead, he found that all he was grieving for was how easy life had been while his father had been alive. Now, he had so much to think about and he just wanted to pretend none of it was there.

Brienne’s smile made his chest ache. He hated what he’d let his father do to them. He should’ve protected her better from all of it. Galladon would gut him for letting her get dragged into such trouble.

“What are you feeling?” she breathed into the brisk air.

He pressed their foreheads together, meeting her blue eyes with his green and searching for something in them. “Lost,” he admitted, and pressed his lips against hers needily. He kicked himself for it. He’d almost forgotten what she tasted like since Sunday but now he was in the forefront of his mind again and he wanted to drown in the feeling of her.   
  
_I’m taking advantage,_ he told himself, _of her kindness and her gentle heart but she’s so willing and it’s so hard to look at her and not kiss her._  
  
Jaime smiles against her lips before drawing back. There was still a whole room of people whose pity he was obliged to accept. He had to focus.

His eyes lingered on the grave and he wondered at the fact that it was done with. _There’s no going back now,_ he thought. It was starting to rain, barely even a mist, and he worried Brienne would catch the cold so moved to leave.

Once the wake began, the three Lannisters stood sentinel at the door, shaking the sweaty hands of every nasty old oaf that deemed themselves worthy of a moment’s attention. Ramsay Volmark wrapped Cersei in a tight hug before she had time to object and she was seething with rage as he pressed himself against her.

“I’m sorry, man,” offered Willas, patting his friend on the shoulder before turning to leave. _They’re all here because they have to be._ There was wine and a buffet and speeches to be heard and they all _had_ to be there. Absence would be the greatest disrespect and they had yet to realise that Jaime didn’t care for their loyalty to his father, only whatever notions of it they could conjure for _him._  
  
He wondered at his brother. Sober as the day he was born for what _might_ be the first time since. It was some sort of miracle, but Jaime couldn’t find the words to ask for an explanation. Once the well-wishers had cleared out, he offered it up freely: 

“I thought I’d drink myself into an early grave just to spite our father, but he’s beat me to the post and I don’t want it anymore. I was drinking everyday to make the time pass quicker but I _want_ it all of a sudden. I want the time. I want to remember going to bed at night and I want to remember taking a woman home with me because he’s not here to ruin it. I always thought I was an addict, to drink, I mean. Perhaps, I was addicted to disappointing him.”   
  
Cersei sat within earshot, silent and watching like a cat about to pounce. She’d been waiting half her life for her father to die and now, her schemes would be set in motion. Jaime wasn’t afraid of that. If he cared more for the company, he might worry, but it was an obligation he bore no affection. _Burn it all down,_ he wanted to tell her, so he could get on with his life.

“Perhaps we’ll _all_ be a little happier now,” Tyrion mused.


	62. Chapter 62

Selwyn stole his daughter away for a few minutes. He could tell that she needed an excuse and the way she smiled so earnestly at him confirmed it for him. She was putting herself to task in keeping Jaime well, and she’d forgotten herself.

“How are you, darling?” he asked.

“Good, we’re good. Things are getting back to normal, I feel like he’s been waiting for the funeral, so he doesn’t have to think about it anymore and now it’s done. We’re…we’re gonna get through it, I think.” 

She’d been strange with him for weeks. They’d barely seen each other at all, and he had wondered if she was just in the honeymoon phase, too lovesick to find time for her father but this was different somehow. He knew her too well to let her deceive him and she was keeping something back. His father’s intuition told him something was wrong, and he trusted nothing more than that.

“I asked how are _you,_ darling,” he coaxed. “What’s going on?”   
  
There was a teenage girl earwigging quite blatantly. Myrcella Baratheon, too much her mother’s child for her own good. He arched an eyebrow at her and found himself surprised by the confidence with which she glared back. 

A moment’s wait before she left them be and returned to her friends. _What is her business?_ Selwyn wondered constantly at the motives of the Lannisters and that’s exactly what she was. There may well be Baratheon blood in her veins but that was as far as the family likeness went. She was her mother reincarnate, and it troubled him to know that there were two such women in the world.

“He’s shutting me out,” she mumbled, and the shame swarmed her words like flies to a carcass. Nobody could appease her in this, Selwyn knew that simply by the way she was looking at him. “I fear he’ll ruin this for fear it’s ruin itself eventually. He always loved to self-destruct, Gal hated it.”   
  
_That’s true._ He remembered all the times that Galladon had come home from school with news that Jaime had stopped speaking to him, or that they’d argued, or that he’d ignored him entirely. The Lannister boy had learnt too young that the world was cruel, and he’d taught himself not to trust _anything_ at all.

Selwyn worried for Brienne. Where Jaime’s heart was locked away safe, Brienne wore hers proudly on her sleeve. She’d get her heart broken and she’d never even complain.

“Talk to him. Tell him what you’re feeling,” Selwyn encouraged. The way she flinched didn’t go unnoticed. The two of them together hold on so tightly, never out of reach for more than a few moments, almost always touching like they were in a constant state of fear. They were clinging to each so fiercely, they’d tear each other to ribbons without even realising. “Doesn’t he _deserve_ the truth?”

It was unfair of him, he knew. She was so honourable that it merely took pointing _out_ such a well-meant crime as hers to make her regret it. Selwyn knew exactly what drove his daughter and he knew exactly how to steer her. She would keep to herself as best she could until someone held her to honesty. 

“He does.” 

The words were naught shy of woeful. What was so dreadful about admitting ones worries he didn’t know. Brienne’s eyes were tired with the troubles of it all and he wanted to ease her load. 

“And how are _you,_ Dad?” Brienne asked, glancing at him shyly. She’d been too busy to consider his grief and suddenly it had dawned on her.

If he were a softer man, he might’ve been wearied by the death of his oldest friend. He was not soft, however, and he would not fall folly to such simple things as these. People lived and people died and if their children outlived them, it was as it ought to be. He’d been waiting patiently to meet his maker for eleven years and still the fates had not seen fit to take him. He was ready, as Tywin had been. A man so ambitious would find _relief_ in the knowledge that he could finally stop _trying._  
  
“I’m fine, _more_ than fine. We’ve seen a lot of death, you and I. We don’t frighten so easily, do we, dearest?”   
  
It worried him: the loss she’d known. Brienne was so remarkably strong and yet it frightened her. She knew how to love, and she knew how to lose the things she loved but keeping them close was something she’d never mastered.

Selwyn thought of Jaime. His mind went to the sweet young boy who had cried when he thought Galladon hated him, who had felt such incomparable guilt at his best friend’s death, who had loved so deeply that it proved frightening. _Slow down,_ Selwyn had told him then, _you needn’t rush to share your heart, it’s worth protecting._

“I should get back,” she declared awkwardly, biting her lip.

“Of course you should, I’m _fine._ Go on, he needs you; he looks fraught without you next to him.” It wasn’t a lie. Jaime was stood in a corner with skittish eyes and body language that frankly begged people to leave him alone.

His gaze lingered as Brienne crossed the room to him. He relaxed so easily, as though there’d never been any tension there. _The way he looks at her,_ Selwyn thought, and wondered whether there was anything in the world so wonderful as seeing a good man looking at his daughter with such pure affection.

 _I can trust him,_ Selwyn thought. He was not good _enough_ by any stretch, no man alive was, but he would look after her and he would treat her well and that ought to be enough. Better than leaving her alone in the world.

Brienne had taken Jaime’s hand into her own and they were so entirely together. The rest of the room existed in a strange stasis. None of it _mattered_ to them.


	63. Chapter 63

It was dark outside, and he was eager to leave. He was sick of listening to people go on about what a testament he was to his father. It was frankly offensive to imply that Tywin had been anything to do with the way he’d turned out.

They were well-wishers and social climbers and they didn’t have the first idea what Tywin was like or whether Jaime was a testament to him. They were the sort of people that his father wouldn’t have given a second glance. He would’ve taken their money and shook their hand and bid them a goodnight without so much as looking at them.

Tyrion had long since fled and Cersei only lingered for the free wine. Myrcella and Tommen were sat looking bored out of their minds and he wondered at the fact she hadn’t left yet. Someone had to stay until the end, and he’d expected it would be him but if he could sneak away, he would not complain.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked Brienne and was pleased to see her wearied nod.

He knew he ought to go _home._ He should go to his apartment now. They needed to set the wheels in motion for their _breakup._ Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to. Not today. _Maybe tomorrow,_ he told himself though he knew the day would never come when he felt ready.

The company was his. Tywin was dead and buried. The stakeholders were all behind him. He didn’t _need_ her anymore, not logistically speaking, and yet he _did._ He needed her more than ever and he couldn’t bear to let her go.

She drove them home and he couldn’t help but laugh at how skittish she was in bad traffic. _I don’t have much left of this,_ he told himself as she rolled her eyes at him and grinned as she overtook some idiot in a Nissan. _I don’t have much left of her._

“Will you take me back to Donington?” she asked. The shift in her expression was barely there but he could tell she’d remembered it would all be over soon. It didn’t seem like relief, as he’d expected, but a subtle kind of sadness that left him wondering if she hadn’t been happy too. “I want to know what it’s like…that feeling you talk about.”   
  
“Of course!”

Jaime grinned at the thought of it. She’d drive like a grandma and he’d lie and tell her how well she was doing. He’d cheer her over the finish line and spray cheap champagne over her head and quiet her complaints with kisses. They’d share one room at the hotel, and he’d get vegetarian food so she could steal it off his plate, and they’d have no dying relatives to rush back for.

Her smile was forced, stretching across her face abnormally and failing reach her eyes.

The apartment building loomed over them as Brienne pulled into her designated parking space, _his_ now by all rights. He feared he had forgotten the code to the gate for his building. He hadn’t been there in a month, hadn’t had the car there in even longer. It was so distant to him now, he’d forgotten what it looked like. His begonias would be dead in the kitchen window sill, and the moths had likely made a feast of his clean laundry, but he worried more for the emptiness of the place. He’d forgotten what it felt like.

“Pizza for dinner?” Brienne suggested as she tossed the keys to him and got out of the car. “And _Black Mirror?_ ”

Jaime rolled his eyes at her and got out, locking the car door behind him with a click.

An hour later, they were sat in front of the television with a pizza box between them and _Black Mirror_ in front of them and Jaime, preoccupied with wondering when he’d become such a pushover.

He sat back on the sofa and let her lay her head down in her lap, getting tomato sauce down her chin at the awkward angle. _Fuck,_ he thought as she giggled and wiped her chin clean. _I love her._  
  
It had been nothing more than an infatuation. He’d thought her sweet and kind and beautiful and he’d thought her the best person he could possibly choose to weather the storm of his father’s wrath with. Jaime had thought he cared only for the reminder of his dead best friend but in that moment, she was _completely_ Brienne and he found he loved her more than ever.

“What?” she squawked. “Did I miss it?”

Jaime was staring at her quite unashamedly he realised. Smirking, he reached down with his thumb and swept the corner of her mouth clean. There was nothing there, but he’d taken the opportunity to touch her gladly.

Every time he let himself be with her for even a moment, it served to remind him what he was set to lose. He wasn’t one to dwell. He let himself be happy. He let himself hope she’d never find the time to ask him when he planned to leave and they’d stay together in this never ending temporality.   
  
He’d thought on that enough. At night, he’d watch her sleep and wonder if she’d be sick of him in the morning. Soon, she’d cast him aside for greater things. She’d find herself a good man and she’d take over _Solitaire_ and they’d be colleagues…friends, perchance. _Nothing lasts forever._

“Pay attention!” He snapped his eyes up to the screen a moment, saw what was happening and turned back to watching her instead. _Netflix_ was going nowhere, he had something more fleeting to cherish.

 _Let me linger,_ he begged. _I know it’s time but I’m not ready yet._


	64. Chapter 64

Cersei was thriving in the aftermath of her father’s death. Her skin was glowing and she had the hint of a smile resting on her face. It disgusted Arianne.

“Do you want to go?” Myrcella suggested. Her best friend had been staying at her house almost every night for the past month. She still went to her father’s every second weekend but the rest of the time, she stayed in the spare bedroom. At Arianne’s nod, she rose to her feet. ”I’ll just go say goodbye.”

The two had been in a odd stalemate for weeks now. Myrcella had courtesy enough to speak to her mother when she saw her. Cersei was still vying for her daughter’s forgiveness and wouldn’t pick a fight. They were _normal_ with each other aside from the fact that Myrcella had moved out of the family home.

Arianne followed a few paces behind, just close enough to remain in earshot. She knew the vitriol that Cersei Lannister spilt with her words and she didn’t want her worming her way into Myrcella’s thoughts. 

“Mum, I’m going now,” she announced and the way that Cersei glanced up from her wine glass was enough to tell her what would come next.

“I’m tired of this little game you’re playing, Myrcy. You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to come home. Don’t you realise how ridiculous you look?”

“Don’t you? Uncle Jaime and Brienne are besotted. They aren’t going to conveniently fall out of love anytime soon. You’re chasing a pipedream rooted in the misery of your own family members. You’re not even ridiculous, you’re _sad._ ” Myrcella sneered, her friend would chide her for it later. _She shouldn’t act like her mum, people will think she’s just like her._

Cersei’s eyes widened at that. If she wasn’t determined to maintain her image as the perfect mother, she might’ve slapped her daughter for a second time, but there were people to see it here. Her disappointment in her children was an exclusive and private affair that other people weren’t worthy of knowing about.

“I’m _sad?_ Is that the worst you can conjure? Didn’t I teach you better? If you’re trying to hurt my feelings, call me a failure or an embarrassment or a fool-”

“Or a bad mother?” Arianne interjected and the words were out of her mouth before she had time to stop herself.   
  
Two pairs of emerald eyes turned to face her with shock spearing through them, and in Myrcella’s, just a hint of infuriation.

“Arianne Martell, you have the _nerve_ to call _me_ a bad mother?” 

It had been stirring in her for years, since the first time she’d heard Myrcella spout the spiteful nonsense her mother fed her. She’d been waiting for this moment, she’d dreamed of it a hundred times, and here it was.   
  
She was taller than Cersei and despite her slightness, squaring up against the woman, they looked a fair match. 

“I could call you far worse. I could tell you that your daughter is better for being away from you. I could tell you that underneath all the hatred you’ve instilled in her, she’s good and kind and she’s going to be incredible in spite of you. I could make sure you understand that not an ounce of her future success will be down to you because all you did as a mother, was teach her what she _didn’t_ want to be when she grew up.”

Cersei flinched at that though she didn’t let either of the girls see. _A silly little girl made to believe she’s worth something by her silly little parents._ That’s all she was, and yet she _had_ Myrcella.

“Myrcy, come home.” It wasn’t _begging,_ she’d never stoop to that, not even for her children’s sake, not to anyone but God. It was something close to that though, something desperate and hopeless that she didn’t know she had inside of her.

 _I’ve gone too far,_ she realised. _She’s beyond my grasp now and I will have to draw her back to me with love and dedication._ Once, the promise of a new dress or a fancy dinner would’ve been enough, but she was grown now and not so easily distracted.

“Go get your precious company, Mum. It was always more valuable than me,” her daughter sneered, and she wondered if her daughter hadn’t been attention all these years.

 _It was all for you,_ she wanted to say. _I did all this for you. The company will be yours one day, the fortune will be Tommen’s, and after you, it will go to your children. I was selfish only in the sense that you are a part of me and I did it for you._  
  
It was all for my children, she wanted to say, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.  
  
Arianne could see her mind working, she could tell the things she was thinking just by watching her eyes drop to the ground then search longingly for Myrcy’s attention. It was remarkable how much like her father she had become, and in so short a time.

Myrcella turned to leave and her blonde curls fluttered prettily as she stalked off.

“You can win her back,” Arianne said with a softness. “She still loves you, all you have to do is love her too and she’ll go back to you so willingly. She’s my best friend and I’d strangle you if I thought it wouldn’t break her heart. I tell you only because I know you’re incapable of it. If you were any gentler, I might worry it were possible, but there is no love inside of you.”   
  
_That sounds like a challenge, little girl,_ Cersei thought. _There are few things I won’t do for my children, perhaps no things at all._ I will love her and you will become a speck on the horizon past. You are nothing and I am her mother, I brought her into this world and I will lead her through it.

Her children. Her company. Her claim to the family fortune. It was all within her reach if only she fought hard enough.


	65. Chapter 65

When she called him, she’d half expected him to ignore it.

“What do you want?” he snapped, and she was almost charmed he’d bothered to answer at all.

“I need to see you. Can I come over?”  
  
“No, I’m at Brienne’s. I’ll come to you,” he said before ending the call.  
  
Of course, he was with _her._ They were inseparable and it was nauseating. Two lovesick dogs with nothing better to do than moon at each other.

Cersei still hadn’t forgiven him for being so damn predictable. Falling in love with the girl people had been throwing at him all his life was the most predictable move he could’ve made.

Myrcella was still avoiding her and Tommen was being as difficult as he ever had and the only thing she had the energy to think about was the company. It was a much simpler matter than her children, and her brother was much easier to manipulate.

When he turned up at the door wearing a suit, she almost laughed at him. He was trying to look like he knew what he was doing but he was clueless, and it was charming to watch his attempts.

“Jaime, come in,” she invited with a cordial smile.

He followed after her and she knew that there was trepidation in his steps. Going to blows with her was something that the men in her family had quickly learned to avoid, her twin brother most of all. 

It was amusing to watch him struggle so with the weight of it. It wasn’t worth the fight she’d decide him, instead she would coax _Casterly_ out from beneath him and snatch it away for herself. _He didn’t deserve it,_ she reminded herself. He hadn’t worked a day in his life towards earning the respect of his peers and employees, not like she had.

“Why am I here?” he drawled impatiently, taking a seat at the breakfast bar and watching her.

“To discuss what comes next,” she answered like it was obvious. “We both know that I could take the company before you could blink. The stakeholders might respect you now but they know I’m better for business and they won’t give you their loyalty. I bought that months ago with false promises and my womanly wiles. I don’t want to betray you, little brother, so I’m telling you to your face. Give me what is mine.”  
  
Jaime frowned at her just slightly. His brows knitted together and he watched her struggle to deduce his expression.

“You really thought I didn’t know? You did your scheming while our father still breathed, and therein lay your mistake. Every board member took your promises and fed them right back to our dead Dad, and he fed them to me. I let you have your fun, let you think you were some sort of evil genius, but the Starks and the Tullys and the Martells hold no fealty at all to you. The jig is up.” 

She turned away to pour two glasses of water and hid her humiliation from his eyes. Her father’s betrayal was no surprise at all but she had forgotten the threat which his gentlemen held. They lived in fear of him, and no matter how she sweet talked them, they’d never _love_ her while Tywin lived. 

“Why do you care?” Cersei asked, turning back around to face him. “You’ve spent your whole life complaining about the burden of this company. When we were young, you said you’d give it to me once Dad died. Ever since you realised it was your responsibility, you’ve been shunning it at every turn. So, what changed?”

Their eyes were locked in an unspoken conflict. Jaime on the defence as ever, and Cersei trying to breach his walls. If she didn’t know him so well, she might have missed the flicker of sweet vulnerability in his eyes.

“Oh!” she exclaimed gleefully. “It’s her! You think with _all_ your money and _all_ your power, you’ll persuade her to love you. You think she’ll realise just what a waste of time you are and leave you in the dust, but for your _money_ she might stay. She isn’t worth it, Jaime, she’s been second-best all her life and she isn’t the worthy of the pedestal you’ve put her on.”

His jaw twitched and he hated how easily he gave himself away. 

Cersei was so proud of her own cunning. She knew him better than he knew himself. The poor fool hadn’t even realised what he was doing, and now he had a company he didn’t want, and the women that he loved would soon be gone for the hills. _What a shame he couldn’t love another?_

“The company is mine by right. She is mine by her own choice. You can’t have either of them, Cersei, they’re not yours to take.” It was strange to hear him so fierce, it wasn’t _like_ him, but she’d seen this side of him before.

 He’d ruin it for himself. Cersei was certain of that. There was no point in trying to orchestrate his downfall when he was improvising with such tragic elegance. She gave it a month at the most, and a month was nothing to her but time to recall her children to her side. 

She would _win._ She had to. There was nobody else playing.


	66. Chapter 66

_She deserves the truth._ He’d be reminding himself of that every five seconds since he left his sister’s house. _She deserves the truth._

Jaime almost crashed into the side of some idiot at a t-junction. It barely even fazed him, he was too distracted. Someone might have rear-ended him and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t batted an eyelid as long as the car continued to move.

When he stepped inside the apartment and announced his presence, she entered the room the same as she always did and dropped a peck on his cheek casually. His eyes had already given him away he realised as he drew back to see her questioning gaze.

His hand came up to cup her chin and his thumb ran the length of it, he didn’t want to tell her. _She deserves the truth._ It came like an alarm clock, telling him that his time was up, and he needed to stop pretending.

“My Dad’s dead,” he started, shy against her curiosity. “My Dad’s dead and _Casterly’s_ mine and I’m still here for some reason.”

Brienne flinched away from his hand like he had burnt her with his words. She didn’t like the implications he was making. Her kindness was being misconstrued and she resented him for it. _She’s been giving me time,_ he thinks.

“I need to go,” Jaime continued. “I’ve settled myself here without ever being invited and that was wrong of me so I’m going to go before I let myself fall any deeper. I’ve never been brave, Brienne, you know that. Reckless as the tide picking a fight with the shore, but there’s little courage in me. I’m telling you because we’re going to have to work together for the rest of our lives and I can’t _pretend_ for you.”

Her eyes were full of bewilderment and he wished he could read her mind. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and she’d just washed her hair with _his_ favourite shampoo, and it all felt so alarmingly authentic.

“Ironic,” he scoffed. “We started out with this performance and now I couldn’t act for you if my life hung in the balance. This isn’t pretend anymore, Bri. I come into your apartment every day after work and I kiss you and I hug you and I sleep in your bed when there’s nobody watching because I _want_ to. I _want_ you and I can’t play at loving you anymore when it’s so real.”

Brienne tries to conjure shock. She tries to feign surprise for the sake of his grand gesture, but she can’t. it’s all so gloriously normal; he walked in and she kissed him hello and he told her he loved her. Admittedly, it was with a flair for the dramatic that stepped _beyond_ the realms of normal, but it felt like any other day.

If there was any emotion at all for her it was relief. The knowledge that this life they’d been living was real, that it wasn’t _over_ suddenly. She’d feared for that.

“Jaime,” she started, “it was _never_ a game. It was an allegiance, and a scheme, and a relationship of the strangest sort, but I was never playing.  When I told you that you could have me, it wasn’t for _them,_ when you kissed me in a pitch-black room, there was nobody looking. The only ones we ever fooled were ourselves.”

In any other moment, she might’ve panicked. She might’ve dwelled on what was happening in their lives and believed he was settling but right now, she couldn’t. He’d come _home_ with fateful news and arms open to greet her and there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be; it was written all over his face. 

There was no exhale of a breath held hostage. There was no great collapse into joyful tears. Jaime might have doubted her affections, but his mind, unbeknownst to him, had been waiting patiently for this moment for weeks. _It all makes sense,_ he thought.

She looked so gloriously at peace with the world. His t-shirt hung off her loosely and her hair was still damp and she couldn’t have looked more wonderfully casual than in that moment. Effortless in her beauty, not _trying,_ not forcing herself to look a certain way; they were in their home and Brienne was exactly as she ought to be in that moment.

He kissed her then, grateful and tender and sweet. It might have been something miraculous in another life, but this was the normality they had constructed. It was a kiss, like any other kiss.

Brienne remained calm all evening. She had expected the shock to kick in eventually but there _was_ none. They had curled up on the sofa and watched Netflix the same as any other night, and when he kissed her goodnight, it felt like it always had.

Lying in bed that night, they were both so terribly happy and it was _normal._ Aside from the weighty moments of introspection, they had been existing in this bliss for weeks and never batting an eyelid.

“Goodnight,” she mumbled into his shoulder sleepily and wonders how they were ever so blind.

Her dreams are of a knight in shining armour, come to protect her from a threat she can’t identify, and in his arms, she feels so safe she doesn’t have to wonder whose face sits beneath the helm, she _knows_ its Jaime. _What a girl I am,_ she thought, _to dream of knights and trusty steeds and me, a princess in need of rescue._

 _Our love is not one worthy of fairy tales_ , she chided herself. _We are just common folk with common hearts that were lucky enough to find one another._  


	67. Chapter 67

For four nights they went on as usual; they kissed and touched and spoke more freely, but nothing _really_ changed. He might have wanted to drag her straight into the bedroom that evening, and he might have thought of ravishing her every night since but it would’ve felt so sudden.

They were sat on the sofa watching _Black Mirror_ again, much to his dismay. Brienne was curled into his side snugly and he had his arm wrapped around her and in her jogging bottoms and his _AC/DC_ t-shirt, she looks so content that when she turns her head to say something, he can’t help but kiss her. 

She hummed against his lips appreciatively and melted against him as she realised, he didn’t seem to be pulling back. He tasted of coffee and musk and lust and his breath was hot against her mouth.

“Brienne,” he whimpered half-apologetically against her lips. _She wants this,_ he told himself. Her hands were wandering up and down the length of his back yearningly. _She wants you._  

Her body was pressed up against his at the odd angle and if she only looked, she’d see his blatant want, tented in his trousers. Jaime wished it was as easy to sense hers, but it was there: in the gasping breaths and the dulcet tone of his name in her mouth, and the way she glanced him with dilated pupils.

Jaime’s fingers brushed down the length of her torso lightly and he smirked at the way it made her shiver. He tried to be cautious, to go slowly with her, but she threw her leg across him, so she was sat astride his thighs and the wonderful weight of her against his half-hard cock snatched away his willpower.

His hands wander to the hem of the t-shirt, though he makes no move to take it. He moves his kisses messily up her jaw, then down her neck, revelling in the way she moaned when he nipped at her skin playfully.

The television’s still playing in the background and someone just screamed and it’s pissing him off. Jaime grabs blindly for the remote and turns it off, groaning at the way she rolls her hips against him.

 “Let go,” she commanded, batted his hands out of the way and pulled her t-shirt over her head and suddenly she was porcelain and perfect right in front of his eyes. He can’t stop himself in that moment, it’s such an urgent need to know every inch of her. 

He studied her with his hands first, from shoulder to navel and back again, and then with his mouth. She was mumbling senselessly, nose buried in his hair hand wrapped around the back of his neck and when he took her nipple into his mouth, she jolted so fast that her neck cracks and she’ll _kill_ him if she ends up with whiplash.

It’s been so long since she’d had this. She’d forgotten how good it felt. The only hands she’d known in years were hers. She knew her body better than anybody and yet the way he searched for sweet spots made it all the more satisfying, his mouth roamed the length of her neck, looking for the precise spot that would make her keen against him. She hadn’t been paid so much attention in as long as she could remember. 

“Jaime,” she said needily, reaching for the buttons of his shirt and starting to undo them. 

Brienne squeaked in surprise as he grabbed her thighs roughly and stood up, striding for the bedroom with newfound boldness. Jaime set her down at the foot of the bed and tore off his half-buttoned shirt wantonly. 

The room was dark but for the moon spilling in through the window and she looked so charming in the half light. He watched her there, let his eyes roam the pale white planes of her skin, and almost choked on his own tongue when she shoved down the jogging bottoms over her thighs and kicked them off. 

Right there in front of him, bare as the day she was born, and she looked so magnificent. His cock was throbbing in his trousers, but he paid it no heed, she was so celestial in that moment, he found himself battling between looking at her at all, and never taking his eyes off her again.

 _Love her, you fool,_ he told himself and his eyes wandered to her face. Once, he might’ve worried that his silence would’ve bothered her, but across her face was only a sense of impatience.   
  
Jaime reaches for her calves and runs his hands along their smooth skin. There are just the beginnings of hairs there again and the way they prickle against his palms makes him ache with want. _I’ve taken by surprise,_ he told himself smugly. She hadn’t been waiting in some half-fearful anticipation of this moment, she hadn’t _prepared_ herself, yet she seemed _ready_ all the same. 

When his hand grazed the crux of her thighs, he found her warm and wet and welcoming. _She wants you,_ he told himself again. He needed to taste her in that moment, and he fell between her legs like a man to his God.

He pressed open mouthed kisses to the insides of her thighs, brushing against her sex with his nose to make her keen against him before dropping back again to her damp, sweet skin.

“Hurry up,” she ground out, stretching herself in search of his touch. 

He grabbed at her hips to hold them steady, running his thumbs over the protruding bones and glancing up to see her flushed face. _She is so gloriously beautiful,_ he thought and he wanted to tell her a thousand times just how beautiful she was.

“We have all the time in the world,” Jaime said, and they used it. The moon stood sentinel over them as they slowly, sweetly loved each other. All that wasted time made up for in one long, languishing night.


	68. Chapter 68

The knock on the door startled them both. They’d been lying in bed for over an hour, not yet ready to get up, when it came to summon them. 

“I’ll go,” Jaime said, extracting himself from her embrace and reaching for her dressing gown to wrap around himself. “Stay put, I don’t want to get up yet.”

Brienne laughed at him, all mussed hair and sleepy eyes and hiding away from the world.

He pulled open the door to find a mid-forties man with straggly hair and shorts so tight they might be considered criminal. _Who the fuck is this?_ Jaime wasn’t a jealous man and yet in that moment, there was envy coursing through his veins like a drug. 

There was something in the way the way the stranger narrowed his eyes suspiciously that made his skin crawl.   

“Where’s Brienne?” the man asked in a ragged tone.

“Otherwise engaged,” he sneered. “Who’s asking?”

This man had turned up like he belonged here, had asked for Brienne as though he had some right to her, and Jaime was more possessive than he thought he capable of himself.

Brienne rushed out of the bedroom, dressed half decently in a baggy t-shirt. She came to Jaime’s side and wrapped her arm around his waist in an attempt to soothe his woes. They three shared a minute of quiet confusion, all trying to figure out what was happening, and she found it terribly amusing. 

“Jaime, Sandy,” she introduced awkwardly. “You’ve heard a lot about each other.” 

The tension with which Sandy had been holding himself eased a little as he stepped inside the apartment, past the two of them. Jaime, however, remained cautious. _He’s actually jealous,_ she thought and the urge to tease him for it was distracting as she went to boil the kettle and make coffee.

It was almost noon, she realised, and she hadn’t _told_ Sandy that the gym was the last thing on her mind right now. Of course, he’d come, he took for granted their routine and it was kind of him, he’d wedged her into his life so easily and here she was, casting him aside without a second thought because she got distracted. 

“I used to be a wrestler,” Sandy announced, careful to be quiet in his threats. “If you hurt her, I might peel your skin from your bones. I could think of a hundred different ways to break your weak little body if you fell out of favour with her. She’s kind and good and she’s known more pain than is due to her and I’m not afraid to ruin what remnants of a life I have left for her.” 

“We’re on the same page then.” 

Jaime wasn’t frightened by Sandy. He might be strong and broad and dangerous, but they were allies. He’d had this conversation in his own mind days ago, before any of this was even _properly_ real. He’d stood in the shower and he’d recited the things he knew Galladon would’ve said to him and he’d taken them to heart.

Brienne was _family._ Whether she was the love of his life or merely the sister of the only man he’d ever counted on, it didn’t matter. She was _family_ and he wouldn’t let her get hurt. He wouldn’t hurt her, and if he managed it somehow, he’d be the _first_ in line seeking vengeance.

There was an ill-ease between them. Brienne perched herself on Jaime’s lap to keep him from pouncing at Sandy if he made a poorly-timed joke, to keep Sandy from trying to punch him if he looked particularly lusty for a moment.

“So, I’m guessing you’re not feeling the gym today?” Sandy concluded as he drained his mug of coffee. “Already aching, I suspect.” 

She blushed fiercely at that and offered up a harsh glare. A half-hearted apology was enough to get him out of the door, though she had to promise they’d be back at it next week, _every day_ without fail. 

“What a charming man,” Jaime said sarcastically. 

“Hush now,” she chided. “He got me through a lot. We’re an odd pair I know but he’s been good to me. You _owe_ him for this wonderful arse you’ve taken so kindly to.”  
  
Jaime let out a breathy laugh and bit his lip. _It’s unfair to be mad at the man who brought such magnificence to light._

There was always going to be an unspoken history with Brienne. Jaime had accepted that to an extent. He wanted to know every moment of it, and he knew in time, she’d tell him each detail, but for now, he had to rely on Sandy and Selwyn to hear the troubles she wasn’t ready to share with him. He still begrudged them for their knowledge of her, though.

“Interested in some cardio?” Jaime teased, running his hand up her bare thigh. “Monday’s _normally_ leg day but if I worked you too hard last night, I’m happy to take the lead.”   
  
Brienne placed her hand over his, stopping it in his tracks and turning around to straddle him, biting back the moan that came from the silk of the robe against her thin cotton knickers. “I’m no slacker." 

 _Fuck,_ he thought. His cock stood to attention and he blushed unashamedly at he pressed between her thighs.  In that moment, he was more at her mercy than he had ever been. She might’ve sat there all day on top of him, her warmth overwhelming him and making him gasp, and he would have done naught but beg.

Luckily enough, she was a merciful woman and soon he was buried inside of her, rutting against her wantonly and committing the feel of her to memory. _There is nothing so divine as this,_ he thought, _but for her laugh, that is, by margins, more wonderful._

He was wrong, he learned. When she shuddered against him and breathed his name into his ear, he realised that not even her sweetest smile could compare to this. _I brought to this ecstasy._ There was overwhelming pride in that. 


	69. Chapter 69

When he rang her again, she was surprised to hear from him so soon. It had been less than a week and he couldn’t have possible ruined things _that_ fast.

“Party in the garage tomorrow night before everyone leaves,” he said as soon as she picked up. “The whole herd back together before everyone gets back to their normal lives. Dad dragged us all back to one spot, he’d _hate_ it.”

She was surprised he’d asked her. They weren’t speaking to each other; he was positively ignoring her in fact and yet he wouldn’t let her miss this. To be with them made her so vulnerable, she wondered if it wasn’t some sort of trick to bring her out into the open. The Cersei Lannister who served as the face of diamonds across the world did not have friends; she did not laugh or cry or get wasted where other people watched but with them she couldn’t help herself.

Cersei wished Galladon was alive. She’d been thinking of him more and more lately. He’d been kind and sweet and he would have made the road to _Casterly_ a much smoother ride. They could have been so wonderful. She resented him for dying, for ruining her plans.

“I’m going out, but Unella’s on her way. Have a good evening, darling, and don’t stay up to late.” She dropped a kiss to Tommen’s head and left.

The garage was full when she got there. 

The shitty little camping chairs they’d stolen from Willas’ dad when they were kids were set in a circle. Ten of them squeezed tightly together. On Jaime’s right side was an empty seat but for a bottle of _Bacardi_. Next to that was another empty seat: for her.

She didn’t even notice until she’d shrugged off her jacket, said hi to Mel and sat down, that in Hunter’s normal seat, sat her little brother. _Quite the replacement,_ she thought. Everyone had known that Hunter would be excommunicated eventually, in the later years of their friendship, he’d barely been invited to their gatherings, but this was far more explicit.

That was _his_ spot and in it sat the man who’d been trying to steal his spot for decades. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Ellaria asked with a smirk.   
  
Brienne laughed boisterously at that and the way her eyes lit up set Cersei’s nerves on end. _She really loves him._ For years, she’d been pitting them against each other and hoping that they’d never realise their own potential. They were everything that she and Galladon could have been and the green beast of envy was whispering in her ear, raring her on to ruin them.

She watched them with a fascination and was glad for the glass of wine she’d had with dinner. Mel stole her attention away from the pair and she let herself be distracted for a little while. The two shared a blunt and chatted about the miseries that life had served them, and it made her wonder if she couldn’t have been happy.

The garage was full of smoke and music and it smelt like 1989. She had missed this. Life had been so easy. She’d wanted things and got them, she’d fucked boys and broken their hearts, she’d been sought after. Now, she was close to fifty with two children, an ex-husband, and the family company beyond her reach.

It was hard to remember what life had been like before. There was no _trying_ to impress anybody, she didn’t need to try. Jaime was going to get himself killed and Tyrion was going to drink himself into bankruptcy eventually and she’d be the only Lannister left. Except it hadn’t happened that way.

She was so in her own head that Mel had to put the joint to her lips to make her realise it was her puff. Absent-mindedly, she let the smoke fill her lungs and life felt easy for a minute.

“We should dance!” Victarion exclaimed and suddenly everyone was on their feet. The playlist made her heart swell, it was every song they’d ever danced to in this room, every road trip to the coast they’d ever taken, and she wished she could go back. 

There was so much that she wanted: the love of her children, the company, the family fortune, the respect of her colleagues. She never stopped to take stock of what she had, and she despised the ambition her father had instilled in her. _What a dream it would be to know fulfilment._

“Get up,” Ellaria demanded, grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet.

If it wasn’t for the song, she might’ve stood there looking bemused, but it was _The Pet Shop Boys_ and it made her think of Galladon. _I might’ve come to love him,_ she thought. _My heart might’ve softened for him._  
  
She kicked off her heels and bounced her bare feet on the concrete floor and she was a girl again. The weed had made her giddy and the wine had made her sad and if she wasn’t Cersei Lannister, she might have cried bittersweet tears in that moment.

 _Fast Car_ started playing and Willas swept her up in his arms and she slow danced with him. He spun her around until she was dizzy and she wondered if she might not lose herself in him.

Myrcella was gone and she wanted to lose herself in someone’s infatuated affections. She didn’t care about any of it. The company couldn’t keep her warm at night or tell her she was lovely, she had hoped to keep her children close with it and all she’d done was drive them away.

She wanted her children. She wanted _her firstborn son._ Willas wrapped her in a hug and held her while she stood there, silent and calculating and he didn’t bother asking what was wrong. Nobody ever _knew_ what was wrong with Cersei, they only knew how to make her feel alright for a brief time.

In bed that night, she cried for her dead son and for the two children she’d driven away. _I will get them back,_ she pledged to the watching stars.


	70. Chapter 70

_She missed him._ She’d never even really had him, and she wanted him back. He was gone and she was still here. She wanted Jaime but he was buried in the ground and she hated that fucking car more than she’d ever hated anything. Grief was so unbearably consuming. She’d thought she knew what it felt like, but this wasn’t just death, this was a future she’d never had a chance to know, shattered for a ridiculous two second decision at the t-junction on Cadogan Square. _Her chest felt crushed under the weight of it all._

Gasping, she woke and shot up from the bed. Jaime was at her side - hand wrapped around her shoulder and eyes watching her with worry - in half a second.

“You were dead,” she forced out.

 “Well, I’m fine now,” Jaime promised. 

He found himself strangely flattered, that she would fear so dreadfully his death. It seemed only logical and yet he’d never thought of it. He didn’t think of death at all if he could help it.

Brienne collapsed against him and he held strong against the weight of her. _She hides such softness behind the walls she had so carefully constructed._

The wind was blowing loudly outside the window and he’d barely slept a wink all night for the sound of it. There was no point in even trying and as she clung to him so tightly, he knew there was no rest for her either.

“How about a bath?” he suggested with a wry smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’d kill for one.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning,” Brienne complained though she kicked the duvet off the pair of them anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sat in her tub with lavender-scented bubbles shrouding the pair of them and her back pressed against his chest. Her feet hung over the bath’s edge and it couldn’t have been comfortable though she made no effort to move.

“Doesn’t it frighten you?”

“What?”

“Loving me.”

He furrowed his brow in consideration. The fact she’d said the words so freely caught him off guard, they’d never _said_ it before. It was undeniably true and they both knew it but she had _said_ it. 

More so, he wondered what she meant. There was nothing scary in loving her, apart from perhaps the fear his heart might breach the confines of his ribcage in longing for her. It wasn’t _scary._

“We’re so _normal,_ ” Brienne continued. “We’ve forged this life together and it’s all run so smoothly, and nothing ever goes this well for long. I’m terrified you’re going to die one day. Every time you get in the car, every time you leave the house, everything you try to use the oven! I don’t know if I’m being ridiculous but I’m so scared that this is all so wonderful it _has_ to fall apart.” 

She was running her fingers along the length of his forearm. Back and forth. Back and forth. It tickled him.

“You’ve lost everyone you ever loved, aside from your Dad. A mother, a brother, two sisters, a coach.” She flinched. She couldn’t help it. They didn’t talk about Renly, _nobody_ spoke to her about Renly, they liked to pretend it had never happened in the first place. “I won’t be so easily stolen away. It would take an awful lot to snatch me from your side.” 

 _He won’t desert me,_ she told herself for the hundredth time.

“He was a prick. I don’t know what happened but I know that he hurt you and for that, he’s a prick who never deserved you in the first place. As long as I’m _breathing,_ I won’t leave you. I’m yours, I have been since before I even realised it, and I’m not dying _,_ okay?"

Jaime grabbed the sponge and soaked it in the water, beginning to run it over her shoulders and chest. It was tender and kind and she couldn’t recall ever feeling so cared for.

“Do you _want_ to know?”

He didn’t answer her and she didn’t need a response. He listened to every word she ever spoke.

“He wasn’t the first,” she admitted. “He was cleverer than the rest though. Ronnet came bounding it with declarations and Ozzy said he wanted to marry me the day we met. All my life, men have been trying to take parts of me for themselves. Hunter, Ronnet, Ozzy. I was used to it, but he was kind and he never pretended to love me until months in. _A miraculous circumstance,_ he called it. When I qualified for the WEGs, he proposed to me. When my brother passed, he said he’d support me. When I said I had to stop competing, he said he was sorry, and he left.”

 _Men have treated her like dirt all her life,_ Jaime reminded himself, and the fear she might be settling was back with him for a moment. 

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her shoulder lightly. “Not the Tarth name or _Solitaire_ or your medals, just _you._ ”  
  
“You think I’d have the first thing to give to you?” she scoffed. “You’re one of the richest men in the world. You certainly weren’t after me for my money, I knew _that_ all along. You’re the only one so foolish as to think _I_ was a clever choice.”   
  
He couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted her. How could he look at _her_ and think she would stay for the fortune or the power or _anything_ other than love? There was an innocence in her that could survive anything. 

 _She loves me,_ he told himself and he didn’t even need to hear the words from her lips, though they were music to his ears when they came.

 

 


	71. Chapter 71

It was all settled. There was nothing left to do. When Doctor Qyburn had told him he was dying, it had been the easiest news in the world. There was nothing left for him to do.

He told them all at dinner one night. Gathering the seven in one place had proved a challenge and yet she had managed it somehow. He wondered if they’d keep in touch without him to bang their heads together. _Brienne will try,_ he thought, _for Jaime’s sake._  
  
 Things were so much simpler.

When Jaime had called and asked him to come to the office for a meeting, he’d been worried. Inside the room had sat the two Lannister twins, and that did nothing to calm him. He sat there and he listened to them bicker and he wondered where this was going.

“ _Casterly_ is mine. It’s mine,” Jaime had bitten out. “It was always mine and I never wanted it so have it! Take it from me, please! Give me _Solitaire_ and you can have the damn thing!”

Everything went remarkably smoothly, and everything made perfect sense. Jaime had been trying to shirk the responsibility of the company for years and finally, there was someone willing and ready to take it from him.

The stakeholders had been thrilled. They had spent their entire lives loyal to Tywin and to have the next best thing was all they could have hoped for. She would do marvellous things for the company and Jaime could get on with his life.

“What is it, Selwyn?” Myrcella had asked sweetly and he’d wondered where she got it from.

Begrudgingly, she’d returned to her mother. In exchange, Cersei had agreed not to involve herself in Myrcella’s sporting career. The girl had started training with Arya every weekend and it was odd the way things seemed to work out. Worlds’ were fast approaching and soon they would be rivals again.

“I’m dying, and you’re all going to act like human beings about it and be dreadfully sad if you like. Your tears would flatter me, but you’ll get over it. You’re Lannisters, all of you, _even_ you, my star, or soon you will be. I wanted you to know, _all of you,_ as soon as I found out.”

His eyes went to his daughter and saw the way she reached for Jaime’s hand. _She has him now._ There was nothing in the world for him to worry about. The night could take him with the wind and he’d know there was nothing left to worry about: Ts crossed, Is dotted, loose ends tied.

“How long?”

“That doesn’t matter I love. I won’t have you wasting your time worrying about _me,_ it’s no matter. I’m telling you so you’re prepared, all of you, for the change it will bring. It’s time to be grown-ups, and to realise what that means. I’m not going to be here anymore to keep you close so look after one another, love one another, keep one another safe. You’re family, no matter what’s between you. You’ll always be on the same side.”

He ate his gammon steak and listened to them chatter on about their lives like everything was normal and he’d never been more pleased. Tommen had fallen out with one of his friends at school. Tyrion was two months sober. Cersei was having a miserable time dealing with the Volmarks. Brienne and Jaime were planning another trip north to Donington.  

Tyrion was the first to leave, he had a viewing for a property. He was going to use his share of Tywin’s fortune to open a strip club. He’d never announced anything more predictable than that.

“Jaime, son,” he summoned as Cersei was corralling the kids towards the car. “Come have a chat with me.”

The Lannister man was at his side and it was hard to believe this was the same boy he’d half raised. They were all of them grown now, and they were all of them happy.   
  
“Selwyn, I-” Jaime began, stopping himself at the sight of the old man’s slight agitation.

“I trust you more than any man alive. You are the _only_ man alive, aside from your brother, than I trust at all. You won’t hurt her, not willingly, I believe that with my whole heart, but she’s a master of hiding herself away. She’s spent her whole life _playing_ at being absolutely fine and she’s gotten so scarily good at it. _Look after her,_ ” Selwyn implored him, “ _and let her look after you.”_

The words had startled him, it seemed. He frowned a little, then straightened up tall and nodded determinedly. He looked half a boy, trying to make a promise he had not the power to keep.

“I’m not going anywhere yet,” Selwyn assured him. “No need to panic yourself.”

 Selwyn stood in the doorway and watched as they walked the short distance to the car. He saw the way she let her head fall back against the seat and he saw Jaime lean across to kiss her forehead. The love between them was so blindingly undeniable and he felt the greatest relief to know she was safe. _My child,_ he thought.

There was pride awash with his thoughts: at the hand he had taken in their coming together.   _If Tywin weren’t so clever,_ Selwyn thought, _they might never have figured it out. They might never have seen the love that had lived so close within their reach._


End file.
